


Distant Fields

by nafnaf



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mutual Pining, OCs play a minor role, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, basically akira turns into a goroboy, side ann/futaba, unbeknownst to goro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2018-12-16 18:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11834148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nafnaf/pseuds/nafnaf
Summary: Akira Kurusu meets Goro Akechi in second grade.Year by year, as the two boys grow closer, Akira finds himself falling in love with Goro. But in sixth grade, Goro suddenly disappears, leaving Akira to wonder what had went wrong, and why he couldn't stop it.Now in college, Akira sees a familiar face on TV. Through quick investigation, he learns that it is indeed his childhood friend, the once unpopular Goro Akechi. He's desperate to see him again, and if it means following all of his social media accounts and attending his TV appearances, then, well. He will do whatever it takes to get Goro back. Even if, by extension, he's essentially becoming one of Goro's superfans.





	1. toys

**Author's Note:**

> yup so... my first multi chap fic 
> 
> this is meant to be a kinda laidback thing because im like too attached to my angst? LMAO so yeah so just expect a lot of pining and fluff, the good shit 
> 
> just a reminder, knowing me, the rating is MOST LIKELY going to bump up to explicit at one point. so if you're not into that kinda stuff just keep that in mind
> 
> ((and yes, the title is based off of that one vocaloid song))

Akira Kurusu meets Goro Akechi in second grade.

He’s a transfer student, and not very talkative. At least, it’s reason enough for the other kids to avoid him. Akira finds himself doing the same—and then the class changes seats and Goro is suddenly beside Akira, brown hair a mess and gaze a careful inch away from his own.

Stubbornly, Akira refuses to speak to him. His friends think that Goro’s an alien, and the class gossips about his mysterious past. This carries on for a few days, until some kids from Class 2-A come around and decide it funny to steal his lunch.

“That’s mine,” Goro protests weakly, but the kids laugh.

“You can go another day without it, can’t you, Goro-chan?”

“… I…”  

“Oh, _Akechi-kun_.” The leader of their group, a large, rough-faced boy clicks his tongue, chopsticks digging into Goro’s bento, “I haven’t been eating well, so you wouldn’t mind sharing your food with me, right? I can take one, can’t I?”

Akira watches this all without flinching. However, he can feel his insides turn with an unnameable and suffocating emotion. Goro is clearly malnourished—his complexion is pale, arms long and bony with little (if any) fat. But despite this, he witnesses Goro purse his lips and hand his bento to his bully, not blinking an eye.

“Thank you, Goro-chan!” The children laugh and bid their goodbyes. From beside him, Akira can see Goro trembling, on the verge of tears.

“… Hey.” Akira pokes him, and Goro starts. “U-Um, you can borrow mine…”

A few moments pass after that; it clearly takes an effort for Goro to process this. When he does, his lips part and his eyes widen. “You mean… I can take some of your food?”

“Sure.” Akira shrugs with the pretense of not caring, but secretly he burns with self-satisfaction. Goro brightens and accepts what he’s offered, some tempura and rice and hard-boiled egg. Akira is fine with relinquishing it all, for he’d stuffed himself on breakfast.

“Th-Thank you, Kurusu-kun.” Goro glows, contentment in his eyes, and Akira has to hide the blush that surfaces on his face.

“Anytime, Akechi-kun.”

Their conversation ends there. However, the following week, Akira is less reluctant to examine his fellow classmate—the way his bangs fall over his eyes, the neat, curved handwriting on his worksheets, the Red Hawk mask on the tip of his pencil. He’s quiet, diligent, and submissive to his superiors. A real card in a room full of snot-nosed children. Akira, himself, is no exception.

“You like Featherman?” Akira asks one day, breaking the ice. Goro does a double-take.

“O-Oh.” Once it’s clear that Akira’s talking to him and not anyone else, Goro clears his throat. “Um, you like it too?”

“What do you mean, like it? I _love_ it.”

Goro beams, and their relationship skyrockets from there. The next day, Akira finds himself raving about the newest Phoenix Ranger Featherman R episode, while Goro enthusiastically offers his input. His passion for Red Hawk ups his likeability in Akira’s eyes, and one day, Akira offers to show Goro his collection of Featherman figurines.

“Ah…” Goro smiles, uncertainty in his features. “Is that alright?”

“Sure, my parents are okay with it.”  

The statement makes Goro pause, brows drawn together in disbelief. But this reaction is met with perplexion on Akira’s side, so Goro just drops it and agrees to go.

“Cool. We’ll eat and marathon the latest episodes,” Akira tells him, eager to get going. Goro simply nods, allowing Akira to lead the way to his home.

When they get there, Goro expresses shock and amazement with Akira’s collection. It’s only a few figurines and manga books, but the praise is enough to stroke Akira’s ego.

“I never have money for these kinds of luxuries,” Goro admits. “I’m lucky to catch an episode on TV.”

To this, Akira frowns, wondering the reason behind this upsetting fact. He knows better than to question it, though; his mother warns him about these things. He elects to make up for it by showing Goro the episodes he hasn’t seen, and his parents cook them a warm meal.

Immediately, Akira and Goro huddle up on the couch. He doesn’t notice when they get closer, arms pressed together and knees brushing, an indescribable warmth filling Akira’s chest.

They get so absorbed with the show that they don’t notice it’s night. Akira’s mom pops her head in: “Akechi-kun, are you going to sleepover?”

“What?” Akira looks to Goro, blinking rapidly. “Can you? Would your mom allow that?”

All of a sudden, Goro looks significantly uncomfortable. He closes his eyes and sighs.

“I… don’t have a mom.”

Akira tenses. Pinches his brows. “… Oh… sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” Goro says quickly, eyes wide with misplaced worry. “My foster parents… They should be fine with it. They don’t usually need me around.”

That makes things sound even _worse._ But, Akira can’t complain. He’s excited to spend time with his new friend, and promptly urges his mother to grab Goro a sleeping bag from the closet. The two relocate upstairs after some time and hibernate in Akira’s bedroom, talking late into the night about cool things Red Hawk said during their marathon.

“Hey…” Goro begins, and Akira turns to look at him.

“What is it?”

“Do you think…” Goro pauses, folding his hands over his chest. “Do you think I can be like Red Hawk someday?”

Akira blinks, and then smiles. “Oh, is that it? Sure, but you’ll be different.” He, too, allows himself time to think, gazing at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. “You’ll be like… White Crow or something. And you’ll be the protector of justice!”

“White Crow?” Goro giggles. “That’s so silly, Kurusu-kun.”

Akira’s smile widens. “Just call me Akira, okay?”

“… Akira?” All of a sudden, Goro falls silent. It makes Akira uncomfortable.

He blurts, “In exchange, you’ll have to let me call you Goro, though,” just to fill the silence with _something._ That returns some of the awareness in Goro’s eyes.

“O-Of course!”

With that over with, they go back to their usual conversations.  And then, when Akira grows weary and Goro is too tired to respond to him, they doze off, sleeping soundly to the sound of rain pattering against the windows. He realizes—as he wakes up to Goro’s sleepy smile, to Goro’s incurable bedhead—that his heart hammers two beats faster, and thinks, blearily, that Goro’s smile is like the sun after the clouds part from rain.   

Later, he watches Goro scarf down an entire stack of pancakes, and the two walk to school, jumping in the puddles on the sidewalk. He feels happy seeing Goro so… free, and with abandon. In school, he’s stiff and cautious, never really meeting Akira’s eye. Here, he’s bright and energetic and has so much to say. He's no alien creature. He's a boy.

Akira knows this because Goro loves pancakes and wants to be like Red Hawk. He’s also the type of kid to use the word “luxuries” in casual speech. What kind of alien would be so quirky, so human? His classmates have no idea what they're talking about.

Soon, after a multitude of puddles, the two boys near the school. Akira spots his friends at the gate. “Akira!” they holler, waving at him. And then they see Goro, and stop waving. Twist their faces in confusion.

“Hold on,” Akira says to Goro, patting him on the arm. Resigned, Goro nods and waits as Akira jogs up to his group. They are all surveying him with varying degrees of disappointment.

“Akechi-kun… ?”

“Really?”

“He’s not a bad person,” Akira says, frowning. “He’s really nice.”

“… That may be true, but…” Their disapproval warps into hesitation.

“People’re gonna make fun of you.”

“We get you’re a nice guy, but don’t get into trouble, okay?”

 _Trouble?_ Akira’s frown deepens, fists clenching at his sides. He wants to yell at them, tell them they’re wrong. That Goro isn’t troublesome at all. Still, despite everything, he nods his head. Smiles, weakly. “Yeah, I get it.”

He returns to Goro’s side, and together, they walk to class. Akira finds himself on the receiving end of the many of the same looks his friends had cast him earlier. Of course, that doesn’t stop Akira from walking with Goro. If anything, it makes his determination burn brighter. _I’ll teach them,_ he thinks, silently fuming. _Goro is worth it. I know it._

With Akira at his side, Goro is subject to less bullying at lunch. He feels kind of like a guard dog, sitting there and glaring at any kid who dares get closer. Goro looks at him and smiles whenever he does this. His sun-bright smile.

Akira wouldn’t mind doing this everyday if it meant being able to see that smile.

Of course, he can’t protect Goro from everything. His home life is a total mystery, and kids never fail to express their disdain for him, no matter how indirectly. And yet—despite the darkness that dwells in his eyes after hard days at school, or when he meets Akira in the morning with a limp in his step—he’s always so bright, smiling just for Akira.

“I’m okay,” Goro says each time. “Let’s eat at Big Bang Burger today.”

Of course, Akira hates his secrecy, but  he doesn’t push him on it. He has better things to think about, anyway—that smile, for instance.

God, that smile. Why does it make him so warm?

 

* * *

 

Well, he knows the answer to that, now.

So imagine Akira's surprise when he learns about his newfound crush in fifth grade, freaking out over the suddenness of the revelation. Other boys in his class talk about girls and ogle at pictures of them in mags they stash somewhere secret. Akira, however, finds it much better—and a lot more rewarding—looking at Goro.

Speaking of Goro. By now, he has grown out his hair to his shoulders, and he’s slowly gaining inches over Akira. He’s kept that perfect smile, of course—but now, there’s new value to it. New meaning. Akira doesn’t just like it because it means he’s happy. He likes it because…

When Goro smiles… he’s always so _radiant._

He can’t help thinking these thoughts, naturally. He’s a boy about to go through puberty. Goro almost seems to appear in a new light. Akira’s gaze constantly lingers on his eyes, his lips, his jaw… and even lower still, down to his collarbone which peeks out of his uniform during P.E.

… Wow, is it getting a little hot out here?

“Akira?” Goro asks, just seconds before a soccer ball hits him square in the mouth. Akira yelps, falling ungracefully into the dirt, headfirst and limbs tangled awkwardly. He looks like an uprooted weed.

He could definitely think of better ways to appear to his crush.

Everyone rushes around him to check if he’s okay, but Goro shoos them away, opting to take Akira to the nurse alone. It’s no secret to everyone that Goro and Akira are practically inseparable by now, so they don’t question it. That doesn’t mean they don’t narrow their eyes at Goro anyway, though, as if he’s the plague.

Unfortunately, Goro is too acquainted to it to show any outward emotion.

“Are you okay?” he whispers softly, as soon as Akira is all bandaged up and conscious. Akira blushes, kicking his legs back and forth.

“Yes.”

“Be more careful,” Goro chastises, though the smile doesn’t leave his face. Akira smiles back, stupidly, maybe. And looking significantly less attractive with a missing tooth.

Goro laughs, patting him on the knee. Goro is always looking after him like this. Akira may consider himself the protector, but Goro shows he cares in a gentler way, patching him up after scuffles—scuffles about _Goro,_ no less—and offering to help him study before difficult tests.

It’s strange how close they’ve gotten over the years. Now, Akira knows Goro like the back of his hand. His habits, his preferences. He buys vanilla shake to use as dip for fries, he's better than Akira in RPG's but worse in fighter games… Oh, also, he gets the brightest smile on his face when you praise him, and is positively _egregious_ at sports.

Not to mention, his laugh is like the tinkling of the wind chimes in Akira’s backyard.

Goro is unlike any friend he has ever had; he’s honest and captivating and so utterly passionate. He has something Akira doesn’t. Akira doesn’t know what. Still, not that it matters so much when Goro makes him feel this alive, this energetic. He, truly, is the sun after a rainy day.

“Let’s get ice cream after this,” Akira says offhand, fondness making his heart burst. Goro seems surprised, but the surprise quickly melts into understanding.

“I imagine that would help with the tooth, huh? Sure, let’s go.”

Later that day, at the ice cream shop, Akira watches Goro lick at his ice cream, slow and careful, like a kitten. The blush on Akira’s face darkens considerably.

He won’t survive this that long, will he?

 

* * *

 

It’s a cold winter day when it happens.

On that day, they go on a trip to Dome Town to celebrate Akira’s 12th birthday. Goro is more than happy to win Akira prizes at the booths, the two often leaving with an armful of stuffed toys. It gets to the point where Akira’s mother has to shove it all in a bag they end up toting around the entire park.

“You’re winning too much!” Akira says, finally realizing the futility of all these gifts. Goro flashes him a cheeky smile, and then promptly drops a stuffed cat into the bag.

“I can’t help but want to win for you.”

That makes a flush rise on Akira’s cheeks. Sputtering, he shoves Goro lightly on the shoulder, eliciting a laugh from the other boy.

“You’re embarrassing.” His gaze flickers to the side, too shy to look Goro in the eye. From there, his eye catches on the ferris wheel towering over them. He nudges Goro in the ribs: “Hey, why don’t we go there next?”

Goro sends him a sidelong glance. And then, “Sure.”

Quickly, the two boys fall into line, chattering all the while. Akira attacks him with the cat plushie Goro won him, and Goro retaliates, pecking him with the beak of a crow doll he had scored for himself. By the time they clamber inside one of the capsules, a light snow has begun to fall overhead, softening the scenery with powdery white.

“It’s exquisite,” Goro says, breathless. Akira tries not to laugh at his choice of words. Instead, he regards the view and decides it is, indeed, exquisite.

That’s not all that’s exquisite, though. There’s a light in Goro’s eye that gives off this sense of wonder—of complete and utter awe. But there’s also a hint of something else in there, something hidden beneath the surface. It's almost melancholic. Wistful, perhaps.

“… To be honest,” Goro whispers suddenly, clutching at his seat. “I never thought I would see this much of Tokyo.”

Akira stops bouncing his leg. “What do you mean?”

“… I just…” Goro looks down at his feet, lips pursed. “It never seemed possible. But then I met you. And it felt like I could see the world in you. You just… had so much to give me.”

Akira’s heart stutters in his chest. “That’s…” What’s he supposed to say to that?

“Ah, s-sorry. I don’t mean to sound sentimental, but—” Goro lifts his chin. Smiles slightly. “It’s your birthday, Akira. So I just wanted to thank you. For everything. Sharing your food with me and befriending me. Really, your companionship is… all I could've asked for.”

Akira shakes his head, trying to quell the lovestruck smile growing on his face. “I should be the one thanking you, Goro.”

“For what?”

“For—” Akira stops, realizing he never knew the answer to that all. What can he say? Thank you for being with me? For not pushing me away? Really, there’s so much to say, and yet nothing at all. Goro already knows what he’s done for him.

“I really like you, Akira.”

Akira’s heart stops, suddenly.

“… I…” Goro fiddles with his fingers, cheeks redder than it had been from the cold. “I don’t know. I’m just… so glad we met.”

Tears gather, abruptly, at the corner of his eyes. And before Akira knows it, he is leaning forward, trapping Goro in his embrace. Goro shudders, hugs him back twice as hard. There’s a confession in there somewhere. _I’m sorry._ Or, _thank you._

Or perhaps, _I like you._

“Akira—” Goro sniffles, wiping his eyes on Akira’s shoulder. Akira pulls away slightly, meeting Goro’s teary gaze. His nose is red, cheeks flushed and hair slightly askew, lips chapped thanks to the cold. Akira doesn’t care. Akira goes for it.

Being his first kiss and all that, it’s quick and very, very awkward. He presses their lips together like he remembers seeing it in movies, Goro soft and warm against him, then pulling away with lack of another way to continue it. Goro stares at him, awestruck. Akira stares back.

And then they both erupt into short, happy giggles.

“I like you,” Akira whispers, as if confirming. He rests their foreheads together. Rubs his nose against Goro’s.

“… I like you, too…”

They smile, and sit shoulder-to-shoulder the remainder of the ride. When they get home, Goro sleeps over. They share a bed and turn on their sides to look at each other, simply content to lie in each other’s presence.

And just like that, they drift off into a peaceful slumber, their dreams ones of each other.

That kiss changes pretty much everything from then on. Akira is unabashed in showing his affections, and it’s worth all the stuttering whines and blushes that Goro gives him thereafter, one peck after the next, stolen in secret and in public.

This must be love, Akira thinks. This must be how it feels to be so attached to someone. When they go out, just the two of them, childish and naive and so so _alive._ Goro never dims, never wanes in his brilliance; Akira is constantly entranced, feeling, maybe prematurely, that _this_ is how he wants to spend the rest of his life.

To be happy, and together with Goro.

But then the end of sixth grade comes, and Goro comes to school suddenly drained. It's unnoticeable, at first; Goro is usually good at hiding his emotions. Except this time, there is no cheery morning embrace, no sharing lunches like they're so used to doing. Goro doesn't even  _have_ lunch.

It's suspicious, and Akira is getting restless.

“Goro?” Akira asks at the end of class, reaching out for his hand. Goro looks at him, their entwined fingers, eyes blank and unfeeling.

“… Oh. Right.” He blinks, slowly, and nods in acknowledgement. Akira’s lips tug into a frown.

“Are you okay?”

Softly, Goro shakes his head. He tries to smile, but it's brittle. “Don’t worry about it.”

Foolishly, Akira chooses to believe him. And then, the next day, Goro disappears. And Akira never sees him again.


	2. a polaroid

_“Would you wait here for me?”_

_“As long as it takes.”_

Even if it takes an eternity.

 

* * *

 

Akira moves to Tokyo to attend university, although classes don’t start until April. His parents know a barista in Yogen-Jaya that’s willing to take Akira under his wing, so that’s where he lives now—in the attic of a cozy little café named Leblanc. Sojiro doesn’t mind his presence, and Akira enjoys the silence, often taking advantage of the coffee and curry services.

It’s a quiet, unhurried way of life. He rather likes it.

He hopes that this state of calm won’t be disturbed, but fate gets the best of him. It’s a warm spring day when it happens. He’s sitting, as usual, at the counter of Leblanc, sipping on coffee and planning his day. He’s too lazy to find his way around Tokyo, and his jobs haven’t called him back for an interview, so his schedule remains worryingly open for the day.

Which means… nothing. Akira sighs. Sojiro usually keeps the TV on for patrons, so, with lack of a better thing to do, he trains his eyes on the TV.

And nearly drops his mug from what he sees there.

_Ace Detective Goro Akechi weighs in on Shinjuku murders!_

_Another case solved by famed Goro Akechi!_

_Goro Akechi to appear on talk show tonight!_

It’s like a lightning bolt strikes him, renders him paralyzed and numb on his seat at the counter. The headlines glare at him, almost teasing, dragging him into a state of stupefied awe. The shock must be visible on his face; Sojiro glances at Akira and stops pouring himself coffee, leaning across the bar to examine him.

“Recognize that guy?” Sojiro asks, nodding at the TV.

Akira almost forgets to respond, but then snaps out of it and shakes his head. He keeps his eyes on the TV, however, scrutinizing Goro Akechi’s familiar yet unfamiliar features.

He carries himself higher, now—he’s no longer the child used to shrinking into the background. He’s tall, rosy-cheeked, shoulders square and subtle with muscle. But he still has the same long, tousled hair, twinkly sienna eyes, and Akira feels his heart clench with nostalgia.

Quickly, he pulls up his phone; Goro Akechi, Ace Detective, Goro Akechi, Detective Prince… These results circulate like bees in a hive, ranging from articles analyzing his recent television appearance to articles analyzing his latest fashion choices. It’s dizzying and equilibrating at the same time. Akira feels his world collapse into two.

He should’ve put it together sooner, but it takes longer than he anticipates. He stares at the TV, then his phone, then the TV again.

And then it hits him.

_Your childhood friend, Goro Akechi, is a fucking celebrity._

 

* * *

 

He still has dreams about that day.

In them, Goro stops in front of Akira’s house. Waves goodbye to him, as usual. Akira looks at Goro, wonders why his skin is so pale, why his eyes are tired like they haven’t seen sleep in weeks. Then Goro closes the distance between them, hugging Akira painfully hard. Akira hugs back, pretends he’s not immediately out of breath.

“See you tomorrow,” Akira says, maybe hopefully. Goro squeezes his waist.

“Goodbye, Akira.”

Now that he looks back on it, it sounded like a farewell.

Then Goro pulls away, meets his gaze dead-on. There’s a slight tremor in his lips. He might have been holding back tears. In any case, it looks pleading somehow—like he’s begging Akira to make him stay. Anything, anything but to go away. Akira doesn’t meet his expectations. He tilts his head, asking the unspoken question.

But Goro is already turning his back.

The dream haunts him. Leaves him wondering—if Akira hadn’t let him go, would he have lost Goro, anyway?

Seeing his face now, Akira feels a shiver run down his spine. Goro is… nothing like he used to know. Akira would have questioned if it was actually him, but—no, it’s definitely him, definitely the same soft eyes and silky hair. As if it will help his case any further, Akira stares at that same picture of Goro Akechi for a solid minute.

And promptly shoves his face into a pillow.

Even now, Goro still takes his fucking _breath_ away.

Akira sighs. Lifts his face, and continues scrolling through his phone, hugging the pillow tight. It seems that, based on these articles, Goro is a renowned detective in Tokyo, famous for his high school debut and consequent publicization.

Akira absorbs this. Then, he takes out his wallet, sliding a Polaroid out of one of the pockets. In it, Akira’s mother holds him in one arm and Goro in the other, both dressed in mismatching costumes. While Akira had been a thief decked in black, Goro was a prince in white, wielding a saber that he’d dubbed his trusty “Justice Sword”.

Thinking about it now, it’s endearing how Goro pursued his dream of becoming a “defender of justice”. It had always been an ambition of his. Akira, on the other hand, hardly knows what he’s going to eat for dinner, and nearly sulks at the fact that his best friend became famous without him.

Speaking of which.

Just _how_ did he get so famous? Where had he gone—without telling Akira, anyhow? _He’s going to pay for that,_ Akira thinks, furrowing his brows.

Sighing heavily, Akira rolls onto his back, staring at the water-damaged wood beams above. In his old bedroom, he’d had glow-in-the-dark stars plastered on the ceiling, acting as a makeshift sky. Goro often made up constellations from them; one was named after himself, another after Akira. “We’re part of the stars, now,” Goro would say, giggling slightly.

Akira glimpses the stars outside his window and wonders if Goro is doing the same. Does he look into the sky for the constellation, “Akira”? Or…

… Another sigh. This won’t do. One day, Akira will go out of his way to find Goro. One day. Just. Maybe not today.

Frustratedly, he turns on his side and digs under the covers. The Polaroid of Goro remains tucked between his thumb and forefinger, glistening under the low light.

 _You’ll find him._ He huffs, closing his eyes.

_He’ll be happy to see you._

_Don’t worry. He hasn’t forgotten you at all._

_…_ Has he?

It’s a deeply unsettling thought. And not entirely unlikely. Much to Akira’s chagrin, Goro Akechi is the last name on his mind before he drifts off into a deep slumber.

 

* * *

 

At some point, college creeps around the corner.

Akira finds a job at the flower shop in Shibuya, the pay decent and work easygoing. Hanasaki shows him the ropes and he finds, smugly, that he’s a fast learner and natural florist (she tells him so—he’s not stupid enough to actually assume that himself).

When he’s _not_ getting his hands dirty at the florist, Akira is screwing around on his phone. He reads articles about Goro and practically consumes all of his interviews, listening to his honey-sweet voice and hearing him laugh that wind-chime laugh that’s missing a few syllables.

Other than that, he finds, miraculously, that Goro has a personal blog. Which is weird for a detective, but Akira’s not complaining.

He visits it everyday for updates. If there’s nothing, he checks the news. If there’s even _more_ nothing, he goes on forums. Goro has a surprising amount of following, reaching across the stretch of Japan and sometimes even America.

Akira doesn’t have time to be jealous when he’s become something of a follower, himself. Not difficult to achieve when you knew the guy once and even kissed him on the lips.

 _Does anyone know where Akechi-kun lives?_ one forum topic asks. Akira clicks on it.

 _I’ve seen him around Tokyo a couple of times. He appears in Shibuya, like, once in a blue moon. I think he’s trying to stay hidden._ Such comments filter in, dampening the hope that had grown in Akira’s chest. Goro is, as ever, elusive like a shadow.

It’s only when Sojiro’s daughter, Futaba, is showing him around Shibuya, that Akira gets his first glimpse of Goro Akechi. They had eaten at Big Bang Burger, bonding over their mutual love of french fries and anime, when night slowly descended over the city. “Sojiro will get mad if I’m out for too long,” Futaba had said, nudging Akira on the ribs.

And so, now, they hurry out of the restaurant, talking along the way to the station. “Why’d you order vanilla shake if you don’t even like it?” Futaba asks him, as he takes an experimental sip and immediately grimaces.

“Ugh. Dunno.”

“Not a ‘vanilla’ guy?”

“… That’s one way to put it.” Akira snorts, refraining from telling her the _real_ reason. As he hands Futaba his unfinished shake, he catches something from the corner of his eye. That head of long, brown hair is unmistakable in this crowd, full of undyed black hair. Akira almost chokes on his spit just seeing him. _Goro Akechi, in the flesh._

His heart thuds wildly inside his ribcage. _Is it really him?_ he wonders, frantically.

_But what if it’s not?_

_But what if it_ is?

“Akira?” Futaba says, but Akira isn’t listening. His fists are shaking, breath fluttering shallowly in his lungs. _If you don’t move, he’ll get away._

“Aki—”

Akira takes off. He wades through the sea of dead-eyed commuters and runs, desperately, to catch up with the man who might be Goro Akechi. _Don’t let him go,_ he thinks. He’s half-expecting Goro to fade into the air like some kind of fucked-up hallucination. _Don’t go away, don’t go away, don’t go—_

“Goro!”

Goro turns around.

Their eyes meet, and for a second, Akira sees a flash of something in there. The same, inscrutable look from childhood. Before he can say anything—or even, try to catch up to Goro— the train doors close behind him, separating Akira from any hopes of seeing his friend again.

Akira falls to his knees.

“Akira! What was that… !” Futaba screeches, panting as she catches up to him. There are people streaming in and out, now, crowding the pair, but Akira can’t find it in himself to care.

Goro is gone.

 

* * *

 

“Ah… I do enjoy bouldering from time to time, yes.”

“That’s our detective! Keeping yourself fit for the job, huh?”

“Haha, I suppose so.”

Akira peers at his phone screen, eyes straining from how long he had been browsing YouTube. Nothing correlates. Goro shouldn’t be this athletic, shouldn’t be so effortlessly charming. The host even calls him “our detective”.

Absently, Akira’s thoughts drift off, fading into static. What would have happened if Akira had caught Goro at the train station? Would he have recognized Akira? Teared up at the reunion? Or would he have ran, too cowardly to face the ghost of his past? Akira doesn’t know, and tortures himself trying to answer this question.

It had been even harder trying to explain to Futaba what happened. “I just—” Akira told her, instantly forgetting his sentence. “…I thought I saw an old friend.”

“—To be honest, I never thought about it,” Goro is saying, flapping his hand. Akira snaps out of his thoughts. When he returns to watching the interview, he sees the TV host arching a brow, and it becomes obvious just how high-strung everyone is. Akira bumps up the volume intently, curious about the topic at hand.

“Not even once?”

“No.” Goro smiles, pleasant. _Too_ pleasant. “My studies—and my job, of course—leave no room for relationships.”

Immediately, some weight is lifted off of Akira’s shoulders. _So he hasn’t dated, then._ Akira, well, he can say with pride that he’s held off on relationships since the incident with Goro. Or is that something to be ashamed of? Really, he has no clue.

But when he looks at Goro now, feels his heart float like it had done so many times during his childhood, he’s almost glad he’s single. As foolish as it may be, he can’t help but cling onto the hope that maybe, _maybe_ Goro hasn’t forgotten about him. That he still agonizes over his decision to leave Akira everyday.

… What are the chances of that?

Sulking, Akira exits the interview and lies flat on his bed. Goro has already moved on from his life in the countryside; his career, rampant with fame and fans, is proof of that. Where would Akira fit into the picture? He almost doesn’t want to find out.

 

* * *

 

The professor is saying something. Akira knows this, because he can see his mouth moving. But he’s not really _hearing_ anything. His senses mellow, thoughts overriding every sound in the room.

_Goro somehow became good at sports overnight. He must work out. I really want to see his muscles, if that’s the case. But would he show me if I asked him? I bet he could pin me to the ground. God, that’d be hot… Goro pinning me to the ground._

“Kurusu-san?” his seatmate, Shiho, whispers, elbowing him lightly. Akira jumps.

“Wh—What?”

“Worksheet.” She smiles, and hands him the paper. Akira looks down at it, a frown creasing his face.

“Oh… Thanks.”

Wordlessly, Shiho returns to her work, leaving Akira to stew in his thoughts.

College, so far, has been uneventful. He’s only been here for a week, but it’s enough to tell him that it’s gonna be a long few years. Whatever. He can manage. He’s already made friends with two loud, energetic blondes—Ann and Ryuji—which is a good start.

The only downside is that he’s busy fretting over Goro. _And his hair. And his eyes. And his really hot butt. I saw it once in an interview._

Groaning quietly, Akira rests his face in his hands. It’s more worth it to just give up and focus on his college education, but when he’s spent this long believing there was no way he’d ever see Goro again, it’s tempting to just take a chance.

Not to mention, Goro is everywhere.

He’s in the Featherman figurines Futaba has stashed in her room. He’s in the pancakes Akira sometimes orders for breakfast. He’s in Akira’s dreams, his nightmares, his memories—

“Can you believe Akechi-kun has never been in a relationship?”

Akira’s thoughts screech to a halt.

“It’s so silly,” the girl continues, very obviously trying to whisper and failing drastically. It’s the girl behind him, Akira realizes; so there are college-aged fans of Goro, after all. “I bet he just hasn’t come across the right person yet!”

“Then, I wish Akechi-kun would notice _me_ …” says her friend, another fangirl. “I would be good to him. I would do anything for him…”

“So, if you had to take Akechi out on a date, what would you do?” A boy this time. Okay, so, fans of all kinds.

“Weeell,” Fangirl #1 begins, her attempts at whispering lost now. “I would take him out to eat at a fancy restaurant! I bet he has expensive tastes.”

Akira scrunches up his nose. If one could count burgers and ramen as being expensive, then sure, but… Goro has always shown a particular aversion to over-the-top meals.

“Akechi-kun is very sophisticated,” Fangirl #2 agrees. “But he deserves something even more expensive.”

“Like what?”

“Like a cruise ship.”

Akira coughs suddenly, violently.Unable to handle his curiosity, he turns around to three pairs of eyes, which meet his gaze with equal parts confusion and hostility.

“… Uh, yes?” The fanboy raises a questioning brow. Akira takes a deep breath.

“He wouldn’t like cruise ships.”

That earns him a pointed glare from Fangirl #1. “Why would you say that?” she snaps, clearly caught off-guard. “Akechi-kun went on a yacht last year with Masayoshi Shido-san. How could he hate it if he agreed to go on a trip like that?”

It’s like a flame within him is fueled. The Goro Akechi flame. “He gets seasick easily,” Akira counters, flexing his fingers. He remembers the day in fourth grade his uncle took he and Goro fishing and it ended with Goro emptying his lunch over the side of the ship. “Besides, if you looked more into it, you would know he didn’t stay for the afterparty. I bet he was there to keep up appearances.”

Okay, so it was a wild coincidence that he knew of that event; the article had come up during his investigation. Still, from that, the three fans loosen up, their postures open now. “Is that true… ?”

“Yes,” Akira says, wondering why he’s even telling them this.

“What would _you_ do if you went out with Akechi-kun?” asks Fangirl #2.

Akira flushes. It’s a question he’s asked himself multiple times, even after they (technically) broke up. “Well.” He wills the blush to leave his face. “I would… take him out to coffee, and then maybe we would go bicycling around the city. He likes to sightsee. His favorite place would be Inokashira Park—it’s quiet, and intimate there…”

The image is starting to feel personal now. Akira’s almost self-conscious, but the fans are staring at him not with judgement, but with awe. “Is that so?” asks the boy.

“… Yeah.” Akira blinks. “He doesn’t like crowds much.”

Fangirl #1 still doesn’t seem convinced. She’s regarding him with narrowed eyes, and it makes Akira’s gut curdle with indignity. “How do you know all of these things?”

“That’s because I’m his fr—” A pause. Deliberate. “… Fan. I'm his biggest… fan.”

_Wow, real smooth._

The others murmur amongst themselves as Akira fumbles with ways to remedy the situation in his head. He hadn’t expected himself to get so worked up over a conversation about Goro, but, well, he couldn’t help himself. Now he sits under the scrutiny of three huge Goro fans who are capable of disproving his outrageous claim.

It makes Akira wonder. How well _does_ he know Goro Akechi, exactly? How much had Goro stripped away from himself, left behind in his hometown? How much had he glued on, worn as an elaborate disguise for his fans?

To think the Goro he once knew may never match up with the Goro that exists is a frightening concept to grasp. He might have to meet Goro Akechi all over again.

“Hey,” says Fangirl #1, tearing him from his thoughts. He looks at her and finds, shockingly, that she’s not wearing the same condescending gaze she had leveled at him before.

“I like you.” She puts out her hand. “What’s your name, fellow Goro fan?”

 

* * *

 

Thanks to arguably one of the strangest conversations Akira’s ever had, he learns that the girls’ names are Ai and Katsue, while the boy is named Junji. They’re part of a loyal fan group that had modest roots as an investigation-savvy club; they had tracked all of Goro’s cases since his debut and, inevitably, grew attached to the detective, himself.

Akira learns a lot of… strange Goro facts from them. Apparently, he’s been spotted multiple times at an arcade in Akiba, playing gun games by himself. He was also forced to do karaoke on live television (and is actually a good singer? Akira vowed to search the net for that one). Not to mention, he has a Red Hawk sticker on his laptop, proving his loyalty to the show.

The attention Goro’s fans pay him is honestly a little unnerving. As a child, scrutiny needled Goro. Akira can’t even begin to imagine how he feels now.

Nevertheless, Akira resigns himself to a life of spectating from the sidelines. He buys magazines Goro poses as the model for. He watches his interviews when they come on and discusses it with his new friends. Everyday, everyday is a lethargic affair, and months pass without incident. 

Akira can’t tell whether he’s given up already.

“Akira,” Ann says, waving a hand in front of his face. “You’re spacing out.”

Akira starts. Right. He has homework and reading—lots of reading—but at least they’re in the more remote parts of the building, which makes this easier for him. That, and he has Ann and Ryuji, who, decidedly, are no good for studying, but perfect to keep around as motivation.

“Motivation?” Ryuji had asked, when Akira told them this.

“He means he looks at you and decides he doesn’t wanna end up as stupid as you are,” Ann then replied, earning her a laugh from Akira and light punch from Ryuji.

As they talk and argue over trivial things, Akira’s eyes catch on the TV perched at the corner of the room. Lo and behold, Goro Akechi sits primly on another talk show, giggling at something the host says. Akira’s heart seizes in his chest.

“Hey, isn’t that the detective guy?” Ann pipes up, sipping at her shake.

Akira whips around to face her. “You know him?”

“Well, yeah, who doesn’t?” She sips her shake harder, drawing the attention of a few lingering students. Akira narrows his eyes disapprovingly at that.

“I don’t,” Ryuji responds, unnecessarily. Ann scoffs.

“Of course _you_ wouldn’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!’

He has no idea what compels him to say this, but before they can bicker any longer, Akira intervenes with a quick, simple, “He’s my childhood friend.”

And _that_ does its job.

“… You…” Ann sets down her shake, blinks rapidly. “Are you bluffing?”

“No,” Akira says. Haltingly, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the Polaroid of him and Goro smiling together. “Look at this.”

Ryuji and Ann crowd around him, both taking turns with the photo. Akira’s blushing madly at this point, and the offhand comments they drop about it don’t help his case, either. Ann pulls away first. She points at Goro, his cheeky smile and shining eyes, and says, “This is Goro Akechi? The Detective Prince?”

Akira shrugs. “I mean… yeah?”

“You mean, you two—”

“No.” Akira clears his throat, feeling the blush rise on his cheeks. “It’s not… like that anymore. He left in sixth grade. I doubt he even knows I exist.”

Whatever bubble Ryuji was stuck in pops immediately, and he shakes his head, leaning away from the photo. “Nah, I doubt that. Guy like you? Hard to forget. He’s probably just busy with whatever detective bullshit he’s caught up in now.”

“Ryuji’s right.” Ann nods. “Which is weird to say.”

Ryuji rolls his eyes, and Akira, a smile on his lips, lowers his head. “Thanks, guys. But I’m past that now. We should get back to studying.”

They don’t press any further than that, which Akira is grateful for. He puts the Polaroid away and gets a good two pages of reading done before curiosity gets the best of him, and he peeks at the TV. Goro is still there, lips moving, but Akira isn’t hearing anything he’s saying.

He’s brought back to a vague moment in his childhood; Goro eating ice cream in the summer; Goro ranting about that Featherman episode they watched at Akira’s house; Goro’s lips meeting his at the peak of the ferris wheel.

Again, he reaches for his Polaroid and examines it deeply. That day, Goro had insisted on dressing up as their alter egos. While Akira had at first been opposed to the idea, it eventually grew into his personal mission to fulfill that wish. Goro’s smile had never been any brighter. To finally represent his picture of justice…

Emotions flood Akira, suddenly.

_… I… don’t want him to forget me._

It hits him like a freight train. Because the truth is, it’s possible—Goro is now a famous prince, granted, a Detective Prince. He has everything, more than everything. Surely, Akira will fade from memory if he continues holding back like this.

_Is that what you want? To be nothing to him?_

_To never make him smile again?_

Goro’s smile had once meant the world to him. No one could make him smile like that. No one but Akira. Even watching all of his interviews, Akira can tell there is a certain shallowness behind Goro’s well-timed grins. There’s none of the weight it once held as a child. The beaming enthusiasm, the endless hope and sincerity.

Akira misses it. Craves it.

With tenderness so unfamiliar to him now, Akira brushes a fingertip over the picture of Goro. Words echo at the back of his head. 

_“Would you wait here for me?”_

And then his response.

_“As long as it takes.”_

It takes a moment for him to realize that someone is calling his name. “Akira,” they repeat, and Akira belatedly realizes it's Junji. Quickly, he pockets the photo and turns to face the culprit, hoping the guilt isn't evident on his face.

“Hey.” He nods back, still somewhat shaken.

“Got a minute?”

“Um—” He glances at Ann and Ryuji, who simply shrug at him, then sighs a little in resignation. “Okay, but I need to study, so make this quick.”

Junji pulls Akira aside to the nearest wall. He looks around before gesturing for Akira’s hand, which the latter offers reluctantly. Then, he slips something into his palm. Akira blinks down at it, then at Junji. It’s a ticket to a TV station.  

“What’s this for?” he asks, shifting his weight onto one side. Junji smirks.

“What do you mean, Akira?”

“Well,” Akira mutters, knitting his brow, “I don’t recall ever asking to visit the TV station. Also, my birthday passed months ago.”

Junji just laughs, shaking his head in amusement. Akira lifts his chin.

“What’s that laughter for? Can’t you just tell me?”

Junji laughs again. When his mirth dies down, he crosses his arms over his chest, the smirk never leaving his face.

“You haven’t heard, then.”

“Well, no.”

Another snicker. Junji seems content with beating around the bush, so Akira elbows him, eliciting a surprised yelp from the boy.

“Ow, hey—”

“I’m serious, Junji.” Akira waves the ticket around. “Why do I want to go here?”

Junji tilts his head at him, lips curving into a smirk. He nods at the ticket, expression knowing as he says his next sentence:

“Well, you want to meet Akechi too, don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> introducing akira "i know goro better than you" kurusu


	3. his eyes

Akira’s dream is strange.

It’s sort of a memory, sort of not. They’re in second grade, playing hide-n-seek. Akira counts to ten. One, two, three, four. He hears Goro shuffling, and then speeds up his counting. Five, six, seven, eight, nine. Silence fills the room. Ten.

“Ready or not, here I come!”

He slips out of the room and shockingly, finds Goro standing right in front of him. Goro turns around and gapes at him.

“I wasn’t ready!”

Akira smiles, laughter bubbling out of him like a spring. “I said ready _or not,_ Goro.” He runs forward and catches the boy in his arms. All of a sudden, Akira has changed. He’s back in his adult form, while Goro remains the same, wide doe eyes and gangly limbs and all. The boy feels like paper underneath Akira’s skin.

“Goro?” Akira stammers, shock spilling through his words.

Goro smiles sheepishly. “I… Sorry I wasn’t fast enough?” He tries to laugh, but then he’s dissolving, spilling like sand through Akira’s fingertips, until he is holding nothing but lotus petals. They shrivel up in Akira’s palm.

He wakes up in a cold sweat, the feel of Goro’s body sinking into nothing still plastered between his fingers. He finds it hard to touch his own body after that. When he does, he feels his own skin melting beneath his touch, fire and ice blending into liquid.

 

* * *

 

“Okay…”

Akira lays out his wardrobe, a collection of t-shirts, jeans, and jackets. On the bed sits a small stack of magazines, which—shamelessly, on Akira’s part—feature Goro Akechi on the cover. He puts his hands on his hips and blows air through his puffed cheeks.

… Well.

This had, firstly, been no one’s idea. He knew if he told Ann and Ryuji that they’d go nuts trying to milk the details out of him. They were the only ones who knew about his secret, after all. But against his better judgement, Akira had consulted Futaba on the matter.

“Just stand out, I guess?” Futaba told him, after he had asked about getting in contact with the detective. “Dunno about your whole obsession with that Akechi guy, but make sure it doesn’t show. That could be a mighty turn off.”

Still. The likelihood with which Goro will even notice him in the crowd is pitifully slim. The audience is bound to be filled with superfans who will vye for the teenage detective’s attention like packs of wolves over the last sheep in the pen. Still, Akira can’t help but want to leave off an impression. And that starts with dressing smartly, erasing all traces of the countryside's influence.

Not that he knows what city fashion is. Or Goro’s “type”, for that matter. He’s consumed practically all of his interviews and he still doesn’t know what the man likes. Parsing the words he’s said in interviews and comparing it to his childhood knowledge of him has proven to be a puzzle of the worst kind. What has changed? What remains the same?

Akira plucks a newspaper out of the magazine pile and stares. This particular tabloid pictures a candid Goro Akechi in his natural habitat: exiting the police headquarters with a swarm of reporters following after him. This had been mere days after the famous Shibuya drug bust made headlines all of over Japan, one of Goro’s more defining moments.

In the picture, Goro is dressed head-to-toe in crisp white. Like a prince. Akira feels his face heat up at the sight, something wriggly taking root in his chest.

Goro is always so handsome. And sophisticated. It’s true that as a child, the boy wore unfashionable graphic tees that stretched past his knees, as well as shoes that the family dog had chewed on with a vengeance, but there had always been an air of elegance about him. Perhaps it was in the way he spoke, or the manner with which he approached the world.

Like a child much too old for his body.

“Akira!” Someone bursts through Leblanc’s door. The bell chimes viciously.

“He’s upstairs,” Akira hears Sojiro say, and then there is rapid footfall on the staircase, until the exuberant and glowing face of Ai appears at the top of the steps.

“You’re not even dressed?” she screeches, storming towards him. Akira takes a step back and ends up hitting the edge of his mattress.

“Um, no.”

“How could you!” She stalks forward and snatches a handful of magazines from their pile. “What, were you, like—” In appraisal, she flips through their contents, disbelief slowly creeping on her face. “—ogling at pictures of Akechi-kun this whole time?”

Akira tries really hard not to blush. “N-No… That’s just sad.”

“Liaaaar. Don’t worry, though, I’d do the same thing.” Tossing the articles aside, Ai pushes Akira down onto the bed, forcing him to sit. “Let’s get you dressed, then. We wanna leave Akechi-kun breathless by how charming we are.”

Akira twists his face into a grimace. “I have a suspicion that you’re gonna make me look stupid just so that you stand out more.”

“It’s nice to know how much you trust me.”

Akira snorts, leaning back slightly to let Ai do her work. She chooses several pieces of clothing from where they’re splayed out on the bed, analyzing them for what they're worth and discarding the ones that don’t fit (which he can’t blame her for, considering he owns several versions of the same shirt). At one point she assembles a passable combination of a collared shirt, dark jeans, and a beanie, which—all things considered—is better than anything Akira could have come up with, anyway. He doesn’t even remember owning that shirt.  

“You’re lucky you have me,” Ai says, patting his cheek, and Akira laughs under his breath.

“Right. Without you, I would’ve shown up to the talk show in a trash bag.”

Rolling her eyes at him, Ai tugs Akira off of the bed, letting him follow her down the stairs where Junji and Katsue are picking away at Sojiro’s curry. The greet him with a wave, both conferring over the things they might ask Goro when they see him.

“What makes you think you’re going to be able to ask him these things?” Akira asks, as he slides into the booth next to Junji. “Like… I don’t know if he’ll appreciate being asked about the type of fragrance he uses.”

“Idiot, didn’t you do any research?” Junji scoffs. “They’re doing a Q&A segment for Akechi on the talk show. I’m going to ask him _all kinds_ of stuff.”

“Just… please don’t bring up anything about his love life,” Katsue pleads. “I think I might die of embarrassment.”

Akira soaks this in as the three burst into chatter over their newfound topic. If what Junji said is true, then that means Akira—no matter how briefly—has the chance to speak with Goro, face-to-face. The thought makes his insides simmer with excitement.

He wonders what sort of things he should ask Goro. Could he inquire about his childhood? Slowly prod him to reveal details previously unknown to Akira—and then, at the climax, reveal who he is truly speaking to?

… He doesn’t know how Goro would take it. He may deny it, push away the truth. Or he could accept Akira once more into his life with promises of reconciliation and friendship.

_Would you wait here for me?_

_As long as it takes._

_As long as it takes._

But it’s been too long. And Akira can’t wait anymore.

“—Akira,” Katsue says, worry overtaking her face. “Are you all right?”

Owlishly, Akira blinks into awareness. Sees the confused expression all of his friends wear right then. “Um, right.” He nods, attempting a disarming smile. “What were you guys talking about?”

“Just Goro’s favorite kinds of animals. I heard that he found a cat in…”

Lunch ends, and the three thank Sojiro for the food and rush off to the subway. It’s a tight fit in the train—Akira suspects that a great many of these people are Goro fans, as well—and he has to listen to Ai and Junji argue about some trivial thing, probably the kinds of wine Goro would like best. Akira wouldn’t know anything about that.

Thankfully, he is spared the discourse when they arrive at their destination. The four friends weave their way through remarkably dense crowds, every-so-often bumping into one another and incurring the wrath of an irritated Junji. The TV station is no better than the crowded streets of Tokyo, and it takes them a good half-hour or so to actually get inside, but—once they are, Akira’s breathing grows shorter, and his heart thuds a million times faster.

“Can you believe we’re finally going to meet Akechi-kun?” Katsue gushes, practically swooning at the thought. She is met with excited murmurs of agreement amongst the four fans.

“I think I’m gonna faint,” Junji mutters. Akira resists the urge to poke fun at him.

Because he, himself, is just the same.

They take their seats amongst the live audience, the camera crew and director still making preparations before airing the show. Akira takes the time to look around the set and admire how organized everything seems to be.

 _So this is celebrity life…_ Akira taps his fingers against his knee, an unnameable feeling growing in his stomach. This is the kind of stuff Goro Akechi is used to. Lights on his face, fans tracking his every movement, reporters clamoring with questions—

Does it ever overwhelm him?

Akira’s heart clenches at the notion. He wonders if, after Goro left the countryside (left _Akira—_ ) he had ever lived a normal life. Still, yet, questions gather at the back of his mind.

Why did he leave?

What came up?

It would be so easy to pretend that Goro hadn’t betrayed him. That he was taken away against his will, spared no chances of even contacting Akira.

But reality often tastes less sweet, and its poison is much fresher.

As activity on set begins to settle, everyone’s attention draws toward the center stage. Akira’s heartbeat picks up in his chest, and he forces himself to breathe, swallowing with much difficulty.

“Do you think it’s about to start?” Katsue whispers, her fingers clutching Akira’s sleeve. He looks at her and shrugs, though anticipation is welling up in him, too.

“Let’s hurry this up, already!” Ai frowns. She leans forward in her seat, almost hanging off of it. Junji grabs her sweater and yanks her backward.

“Be patient. Sheesh.”

A few more moments of silence pass. The cameraman is saying something, and there’s a quick burst of action backstage, the fluttering of curtains and shouts of staff. And then the countdown.

_Three._

From next to him, Ai and Katsue erupt into squeals, and Akira feels his throat tighten at the inevitable.

_Two._

He imagines fireworks. It feels a little bit like New Year’s.

_One._

Suddenly, there are lights, and everyone bursts into applause.

The hosts walk onto stage, saying words and words that don’t reach Akira’s ears because he’s too busy, busy searching out the one man he’d came here for. His heart palpitates, rightfully so—but there’s no Goro, at least not yet, and it prompts the squeeze in his chest to loosen just a little. He clears his head and listens to the hosts talk.

They’re clearly good at what they’re doing. They have the audience in the palm of their hands within seconds. There’s laughter here and there, some quick jokes to ease the audience into it, and then the hosts are getting settled in their couches. Akira’s hands clutch at his seat.

“It’s amazing how many young people I see in this audience,” gushes an older woman, and all the other hosts mutter in agreement.

“I think we know the reason for that.”

Everyone laughs.

“Can’t say I’m opposed,” one of the more flashier hosts comments, a lazy grin on his face. “I mean, it’s a hell of a lot more lively than our usual crowds.”

“Oh yes.” The older woman smiles. “And with the guests we’ve been bringing in recently, we’re bound to attract fresher audiences!”

The crowd explodes into excited chatter. Akira’s palms start to grow sweaty.

“Yes, yes—we’re very lucky to have him as a guest on this show for the third time. I think he’s practically a part of the family now!”

“Ah, and what good it would do us, too! I think viewer ratings would shoot right up!”

More laughter. But to Akira, it’s mere noise to the pulse beating in his ears, the way his breathing grows shallower as if he’d just emerged from water.

“In any case,” says the male host, nodding towards the right wing of the stage, “I don’t think it’d be wise to keep our audience waiting. We have a lot planned for tonight’s show and I’m sure you’re all dying of curiosity. So how about it? Shall we greet our favorite Japanese detective, everyone?”

A series of ear-piercing screams rise into the air, excitement charging the atmosphere like a faint crackle of electricity before thunder. Akira feels his muscles tense as the host opens his mouth to speak.

“Then let’s welcome the Detective Prince, Goro Akechi!”

The hosts stand. Everyone cheers. Goro Akechi walks onto stage, bows to the hosts.

Every noise beyond Akira’s own breathing drowns out—makes way for the heartbeat pounding in his ears, his chest, his throat. His friends are jumping giddily beside him, but despite their pushes and shouts, he doesn’t move, keeping his eyes focused on the detective currently shaking hands with each of the hosts.

Goro Akechi is even more dazzling in person.

It’s not like the fleeting glance of Goro he got at the subway—the glimpse of maroon eyes, soft skin, and silky hair before the train doors concealed every fiber of him Akira could grasp. This is more visceral, like a flood consuming his skin and setting his nerves alight. Because Goro is _right there,_ out of reach, but just a moment away, and Akira…

“Akira,” Katsue says, gasping. “Are you crying?”

“—Huh?”

He touches his face. Sure enough, it’s damp with tears, and he can’t help it as even more escape from his eyes. Ai crows at him from the seat after.

“Aww! Look at him, getting all emotional seeing Akechi-kun.”

“You’re no better.” Junji frowns at her, but Ai just sticks out her tongue at him.

Hastily, Akira wipes away his tears, attempting to refocus on the matter at hand. By this time, Goro has sat down with the hosts and is acquainting himself with a cup of tea.

“It’s so nice to see you again, Akechi-kun,” says the youngest of the hosts, a woman likely still in her early twenties. She’s obviously a Goro fan, going by the way her eyes sparkle upon sighting him. Goro smiles at her, inducing hushed squeals from the audience.

“It’s always a pleasure to be here, Fukao-san.” His voice floats pleasantly, almost effortlessly, and hearing it upfront causes Akira to melt a little. There’s no way that this suave, confident detective is the same boy from childhood, but—no, _of course_ it is, how could it not be? With the way he talks and seems to put every fear at ease.

“With how hectic the weeks have been so far, I’m surprised you even agreed to show up,” comments the male host, raising his eyebrows. “Surely, everyone here has heard of it. That famous politician, Masayoshi Shido, was pressed with so many charges that I can’t even count them with my hands. The two of you were close, were you not?”

A shadow passes over Goro’s face. It’s hard to miss it, but his quick, easy smile masks his reaction to the naked eye. “We worked together for some time, yes,” he agrees. “But I have always been suspicious of him. It was imperative to put him to justice.”

“And were you involved in any way, Akechi-san?” asks the older woman.

“That is a negative, Hikari-san.” Goro folds his hands over his lap. “I could go on and on about this case, however. Though I’m sure we have better things to talk about.” He smiles.

Hikari laughs. “Of course, of course! The fans here have been waiting patiently for your arrival, and they must be buzzing with questions for you.”

“Ah, yes.” Goro turns to face the audience, giving them a nod. “They are here to ask me questions, are they not? Then I suppose we should get started.”

“Excellent spirit, Akechi-kun.” Fukao turns in the same direction and grins; several fans scream at once, clamoring for the opportunity to be chosen. “Now, let’s not get too excited, everyone! Only a limited amount of people will be given the chance to speak with Akechi-kun. Of course, each person is permitted one question, and conversation with Akechi-kun is restricted two minutes. We don’t want to overwhelm him _too_ much!”

“That’s right.” Hikari nods. She gestures to the male host: “Chiba-san will be walking up and down the aisles to give the mic to anyone that Akechi-san chooses. Of course, let’s not embarrass him with inappropriate questions! We’re family friendly.”

Goro laughs lightly, a sound that’s a little stilted and too, _too_ casual. “How very considerate of you. But, yes, let us commence this quickly. I’m to assume that the choosing is left to my jurisdiction, is it not?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Very well.” He faces the crowd once more. “Then, who would like to go first?”

All at once, a sea of hands burst forth, overlapping one another in an effort to be seen. Ai is screaming at Goro to pick her, but Katsue and Junji are more subdued, resigned to the fact that they cannot overcome everyone else’s enthusiasm. Akira defers his hand. At this rate, he’s only going to make his arm sore.

“Oh my,” Goro murmurs, surveying the audience with growing discomfort. “This is rather… hectic. If I could get everyone to sit down and raise their hands in a civilized manner?”

The people do as they’re told, though that doesn’t stop them from lifting themselves a bit higher in their seat. A smile quirks at Goro’s lips. “Thank you. Then, let’s go with the young lady in the second row. The one with the pink sweater?”

The girl in question beams, but contains herself as Chiba hands her the mic. “Akechi-kun, it has become common knowledge that your appearance is flawless, even with such a stressful job! Can you tell us how you do it? Us girls are jealous!”

Goro laughs, the same, uneven titter from earlier, but no one seems to notice it. “I’m flattered you think so,” he answers airily. “Then it will disappoint you to know that my routine is the same as anyone else’s. I enjoy lots of exercise and drink plenty of water. Of course, eating healthy is a must, and I try to eat a balanced diet whilst also taking care of my skin and hair. I wouldn’t want to apprehend criminals looking like _filth_ … First impressions are everything after all. Ah, it’s befitting of a hero, don’t you think?”

Raucous laughter fills the room, and Akira can’t help the incredulous smile that splits his face. _Goro is such a dork._ Still, something in his words strike the wrong chord somehow, a nuance that causes Akira’s smile to drop. He knows what it is immediately; Goro’s voice is lacking in its apparent charm.

_Maybe it’s been like that all along. Maybe I just didn’t notice._

Truly, it’s hard to tell when all he’s heard from Goro has been through the speakers of his phone or TV. Listening Goro’s voice now is like fire running through his veins. He can hear everything at once. The inflections, the fluidity, the undertones.

And it bothers Akira immensely.

“Anyone else?” Hands shoot up in the air, and the rest goes without saying. Chiba has to go from left to right as Goro chooses his next interrogator.

“Have you ever gotten injured on the job?” asks an older woman.

Akechi smiles. “Oh, plenty. I have the scars to prove it, but I’d rather not show it to the entirety of Japan.”

“Why not, Akechi-kun?” Fukao’s eyes widen, but Hikari elbows her.

“You want this man to undress? Be serious!”

Enthusiastic chatter breaks out in the crowd, and the hosts quiet it down, followed by an embarrassed chuckle from Goro. “Anyways… next?”

More hands. “What’s your ideal type of woman?”

“Oh! Um… I’m afraid I don’t have an answer to that question. Haha, sorry.”

Next. “Can you describe a normal day at the workplace?”

“Unfortunately, it’s nothing eventful. I spend many hours going over case files and making calls. Detective work can be very monotonous, you know.”

Next. “Akechi-kun, please tell me whether or not you would make time for dating!”

“Sorry, but my schedule would be the one to dictate that.”

There are screams of frustration, but Akira can’t help the shred of hope that floats to the surface.

And the show goes on. A slew of questions fly by, tearing Goro Akechi’s private life apart and inspecting the pieces that remain. Akira becomes engrossed with each of the answers Goro has to give—some suggestive, some hearty, some flat. A number of Goro’s responses are completely new to Akira, aspects of himself that were never revealed during childhood. He wonders how many of these things are true.

Still, he keeps his hand in the air, ever persistent. It seems like Goro will never reach him in time, but Akira doesn’t let go of his hope, keeps it close to his chest like a blanket.

Finally, one question passes. It’s by a boy in the front. “If you could imagine yourself in another career, what would it be?”

Goro puts a hand to his chin, his brows furrowed. “… Hmm… Truthfully, I don’t see myself as being anything other than a detective. Though I suppose if I could, I would be doing something that doesn’t demand a lot of stress. Not that I know what that could be.” He laughs. It’s labored. “Ah… anyways, who to pick next?”

His crimson gaze scans the crowd, and Akira lifts his hand higher. By sheer force of will—or something like fate, which, for reasons beyond the extent of his knowledge, does _not_ exist in Akira’s dictionary—Goro’s eyes meet his.

And call him crazy, but Akira is _sure_ he doesn’t imagine the way recognition flits over Goro’s expression.

It’s gone as quick as it came. He points a graceful finger in Akira’s direction. “Yes, young man in the red hat. What is your question?”

His friends screech silently from beside him, slapping him fervently on the shoulder. Through their hushed and frantic whispers, he tries to sift through the growing chaos in his mind, trying, desperately, to pick out a question from in there before Chiba arrives. He finds it quickly.

And, well. His curiosity about the topic has been killing him for weeks. Months, even.

So he steels himself, breathing slow and deep through his nose, before accepting the microphone that is offered to him.

“Do you believe in the criminal justice system, Akechi?”

Immediately, shock. There is a glint in Goro’s eyes as he absorbs this question. _A_ _ccepting the challenge, maybe?_ Akira couldn’t be happier with that result.

This is exactly what he’d been aiming for.

Because of course, the justice-savvy Goro Akechi of his childhood would never back down from a debate—especially not one about his favorite topic. Akira has the mouse in his sights. All that’s left is to lead it into its trap. He taps his fingers against his knee and waits for the detective’s response.

“That is a rather odd question to ask a detective, don’t you think?” Goro begins smoothly, crossing a leg over his knee and folding his hands. “You should already know my answer.”

Akira leans into the mic. “But I want to hear you say it.”

“Oh?” A grin makes its way onto Goro’s face, despite the palpable confusion pervading the room. “How very bold. But, I suppose I’ll humor you. As a detective, I have unshakable faith in the law. We do everything in the name of justice.”

“Do you really believe that?”

A pause. And then, “Excuse me?”

“I said,” Akira drawls, a smirk rising on his lips, “do you really believe that?”

Goro squares his shoulders, his smile tightening slightly. “Why… I must. Justice is, of course, the entire reason law enforcement exists—to put criminals in their rightful place. There is nothing more heroic than what we carry out on a daily basis… though some people do not try to rely on the law for carrying out ‘justice’ and act foolishly of their own accord.”

“You don’t think other people have the right to make judgements like the police do?” Akira presses further, and the way Goro’s expression sets in determination sends a wave of electricity through Akira’s being.

“Of course not,” Goro says. “We set a system in place. We appoint people we can trust. How can you leave judgement in the hands of an incompetent bystander?”

“The system can be flawed, you know. People make mistakes—especially the police. You say we can trust law enforcement, but if the police proves to be inadequate, and politicians grow corrupt, how can we call it ‘justice’?” Akira knits his brows, now, fully serious. “They mess with the system and suddenly it is no longer fair. There are false convictions, unfair acquittals… Obstruction of justice.”

The crowd murmurs in dissent, the hosts looking uncomfortable as well. However, Goro has a kind of fire in his eyes. Passion, excitement, fascination. It makes Akira shiver fully.

On the side, Chiba starts to approach Akira. “Now, now, young man—”

“No,” Goro interrupts, holding out a hand. “Let him talk.” Everyone starts to whisper. Notwithstanding, Goro returns his attention to Akira, gaze steely with determination and similarly, scrutiny. “So… did you ask me this question just so you could argue with me?”

Akira shrugs, though there is mischief in his expression as he says, “Maybe.”

“Hmmm… intriguing. Well, you bring up interesting points. All correct, of course. But, in the end, who can we turn to, if not law enforcement?” He tilts his head to the side. “Perhaps we can be… unreasonable, when it matters. However, there are few other fail-safes we can take in this society. Your perspective is an important one to consider, though. One the people of Japan should be taking more seriously.”

With that, he lets his gaze linger on Akira’s for a moment, before pulling away with almost visible effort. “Now then. I’d hate to cut this conversation short, but we must let everyone have their chance to speak, hm? Let us choose our next speaker.”

Reluctantly, Akira hands the microphone back to Chiba, heat crawling over his face as he realizes the full extent of what he’d just done. He had just held a literal debate with Goro Akechi. On television. He had shot the detective down and refuted his idealistic view of justice.

And yet, despite everything, he has never felt more _alive_ than now.

Katsue leans over to whisper to him: “What did you just _do,_ Akira?”

And Akira purses his lips, fingering the polaroid he had left sitting in his pocket. “… I think I just got to witness the real side of Goro Akechi.”

And there is nothing else to say about that. Nothing Katsue will understand, anyway. For now, he just leans back in his seat, remembering the way Goro’s eyes shone under the lights, like he was finally seeing something for once.

He wonders how he can draw that light out of him again.

 

* * *

 

Goro sinks into the couch with a long-suffering sigh.

In the dressing room, there are only a few meager lights to illuminate the area, but it at least soothes his headache. Absently, he loosens his collar and yanks out his tie, tossing it over the arm of the couch. Spots decorate his vision as he closes his eyes. A scene replays in his head.

_Do you really believe that?_

A smile tugs unwittingly at the corner of Goro’s lips. What an interesting young man. Never in his career had he approached someone of such raw, unabashed honesty… It’s refreshing, to be honest. But the way that man egged Goro on, as if to elicit such a reaction, did not go pass his radar, and he wonders why he went so far as to rile Goro up.

But he swears he’s seen that face before.

That head of curly black hair, that intimidating pair of grey eyes, the shade of it bordering on silver… Images of such a face dance through his head, blurry and transient. Why does it irk him so? He wants to remember it, but can’t.

 _Ah… no matter._ Goro stretches and lifts himself off of the couch, removing his coat and gloves, shedding his Detective Prince persona. There’s something therapeutic in unmasking himself for the day, stripping himself of every layer. He stuffs his coat and gloves into his attaché case, not caring that they get rumpled in the process. Then he chugs a glass of water.

As he sets down his cup, a knock sounds on his door. “Sae-san, is that you?” he calls, and reaches to put on his tie again. “I told you, I’m not up for sushi.”

The door clicks open anyway. And standing behind it is _not_ his favorite prosecutor.

But the very man of his imaginations.

“Hello,” says the intruder, fiddling with his fringe. “May I come in?”

A full minute passes before Goro regains the sense to answer. “Ah… yes, I suppose. That is, how did you get access into—”

“I wanted to apologize,” the man says honestly. Goro’s eyes widen. “For the, uh, debate.”

“… Apologize?” Shaking his head, Goro insists, “No, don’t apologize. Actually, it was a very stimulating conversation. Pardon me for asking, but that passion of yours… Truly, it’s not something we see in modern day Tokyo.” He flashes one of his signature smiles. “I can’t help but wonder if you were wronged by the system, somehow. Wrongly convicted?”

The man snorts. “Well… no. Not really. I kinda said those things to get on your nerves.”

“So you admit you were messing with me,” Goro teases. The man just blushes and shrugs, shifting on his feet. Curiously, Goro lists his head. “And is that the only reason you’ve snuck into my dressing room like this?”

“Um—” A pause. The fidgeting of a hand in his pocket. “No.”

Wordlessly, Goro evaluates him, his shifty appearance. He is more handsome up close. That hair, which Goro had initially thought of as unkempt, has a messy kind of charm to it. And those eyes… they’re sparkling, almost. Goro remembers the image of him from earlier, swimming in his vision like a raging river. And then it clicks. “Ah! I remember you now.”

The man flinches violently. “Y-You do?”

“Yes,” Goro says, smiling now, “you’re the one who called out to me at the station.”

For some reason, he visibly deflates, though it’s obvious he’s trying to hide it with the way his lips twitch awkwardly into a smile. “Is that so?”

“Quite. It’s hard to forget someone who had the audacity to call me by my first name.”

“That’s—” Losing the will to argue, the man slouches his shoulders, casting his gaze somewhere to the side. “… I have my reasons. Anyways, do you really… not recognize me?”

Goro quirks a brow. “Should I?”

He frowns and says nothing. It makes a similar frown surface on Goro’s lips, and with a cautious tread, Goro walks closer to the other man.

“I forgot to ask you,” he murmurs carefully. “What is your name?”

The man stiffens and hangs his head, gaze darting nervously about. He seems to be struggling with whether to answer or not, and it comes as a complete mystery to Goro why he might even hesitate about this. Nevertheless, he fidgets in place for a few seconds before finally speaking, his words slow and heavy and searching.

“… My name is Akira Kurusu.” He lifts his head, gaze boring into Goro’s own.

“And I believe we’ve met somewhere before.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a heads-up that in this au, akira is 18 and goro is 19, but they are essentially in the same grade (it's my hc that akira's birthday is in dec, meaning he hasn't turned 19 yet but will)
> 
> also the month rn is august! last chapter it was april-july


	4. coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early chapter!!! don't let this fool you though this might never happen again

The light returns. In Goro’s eyes, his expression. He’s frozen, lips trembling, eyelids fluttering, rapidly, incredulously, with shock so genuine he might as well have seen a ghost. Numbly, Akira opens his mouth—he wants to say something, doesn’t know what but it’s sitting there at the tip of his tongue—and then promptly closes it, with lack of a better way to deliver it.

And just _what_ could he say at a time like this?

“Um,” he blurts. Just to get a word out. It catches Goro’s attention, at least, enough that he twitches as if snapping out of a trance. Swallowing past the cotton in his mouth, Akira digs into his pocket and fishes out the Polaroid. Hurriedly, he hands it to Goro.

“This…” He watches the expressions change on Goro’s face, from surprise to contemplation to that foreign look he’d wear often as a child. Akira swallows again, disliking how dry his throat becomes in that moment. “If you—can’t already tell, that’s me, my mother, and you in the picture. My, um, father took it on your birthday…”

Goro works his jaw, curling his fingers into fists. “… Akira?”

There isn’t a question in there, despite the way he phrases it. It’s more like a confirmation, to himself and the situation they’re in. Akira’s chest feels full with relief and apprehension and uncertainty. He breathes out slowly. “Yes? Do you… remember now?”

Goro laughs, an ugly sound choked with something incomprehensible. “How could I not?” As if recognizing his discomfort, he bites his lip, abashed. “… You were the closest thing I had to family, Akira. I could never forget that.”

Gingerly, he hands Akira the photo, and Akira receives it with sweaty fingers. The air becomes stuffy thereafter, tinged with meaning and uncertainty.

“… I…” Akira caresses the Polaroid with his thumb, scuffing his toe against the ground. “I just can’t believe we’d meet again like this.”

Goro nods slowly. “Me too.”

Akira puts away the photo and presses his lips together. “Um—look, if I’m gonna be honest with you, I don’t actually know what to do now that I’ve come this far… It’s just… I don’t know.” When he laughs, it’s high-pitched and cracked, emotion making his throat tight as if pulled by a drawstring. “There are just no words for this kind of thing, I guess…”

Goro laughs, too. Less nervous, but more hesitant. “Then, I must admit the same.”

“… Hey, Goro—”

“Akira.” Goro’s tone is sharp, questioning. When Akira looks at him, he sees turmoil in his eyes, hidden only by the strands of hair that fall over his face. “We can’t… Not in here. I don’t think I—” He cuts himself off, voice growing unsteady. “I mean, I don’t believe that this is a good place to have a… heart-to-heart.”

Pulse skyrocketing, Akira answers, “Yes! Of course. Then…”

“My number. Here.”

They exchange phones and consequently, numbers, the brush of fingers like a spark igniting in Akira’s skin. Afterwards, Akira pockets his phone and nods at Goro, one last acknowledgement between them before he prepares to leave.

“I guess it’s goodbye, for now?” He titters awkwardly. The word “goodbye” tastes sour with echoes of _goodbye, Akira_ on his tongue.

“Yes. I’ll text you,” Goro adds, flustered. A goofy smile spreads on Akira’s lips.

“Sure. And, um, Goro?”

The detective looks up, an unknown quality stirring in his expression.  

“… I really did miss you.”

Silence passes, and then Goro is chewing on his lip, his facade seemingly on the verge of cracking. “… Right. Yes. That’s—” He clears his throat noisily. “S—Same here. I’ll… see you later, Akira.”

“Looking forward to it, Goro.”

He walks out of the room, sneaking past all the lingering staff to find the backdoor exit. And if he cries a little on the way to the station, only the cold alleyways and starlit sky can attest to the way his shoulders shake, how his body salvages what little warmth it can get from the tears that roll down his cheeks. He almost can’t feel the wind with how hot his face becomes.

 

* * *

 

He remembers the way sunlight leaked through the foliage of the trees in their hiding spot, the quiet chirping of the cicadas near the pond. It was a small, forested area on the outskirts of their town, ideal as the setting of most of their Featherman plays, and Akira liked to take home with him the little knickknacks he’d find scattered around the dirt. They were things like keys, marbles, crushed-up love letters, tattered dolls.

Goro found pleasure in staring into the pond. It was a modest pond, with lily pads and lotus flowers and pond skaters. Goro claimed that it was so clear he could see his reflection in it. Of course, one day, he leaned forward a bit too much and fell into the pond, and upon emerging they discovered it wasn’t as clean as it looked.

Going to that place eventually became Goro’s escape, hence its title as the “hiding spot”. The two boys would spend hours baking under the sun if only to stay together a little longer, playing hide-n-seek and chasing beetles and unearthing treasure. Times there were pleasant.

And then the day came where Goro first skipped school.

Akira was confused. Goro never missed a day (despite bullies who were relentless in their assertions that he didn’t belong there) and even the teacher, who knew of their friendship, came to Akira to ask of Goro’s absence. Akira had no ideas at first. And then—

He ran to the pond. His feet pounded against the pavement as he rounded street corners and sprinted through intersections on his way to the forest. Once he got there, he was out of breath and dizzy, but he traversed his way through the brush to find Goro crouching by the pond.

“Goro?” Akira said, approaching the boy as if he were a deer. Goro was sniffling, legs pulled up to his chest and face buried between his knees, jerking violently as he cried and cried and cried. Akira knelt down next to him and tried to coax him out of that position, but one touch to his shoulder led to a flinch and a scream.

“Don’t touch me!”

“G—Goro?” Akira sat back, staring at his friend. Goro was silent for a few moments, and then he shook his head.

“No… p-please don’t…”

“I want to see,” Akira insisted, moving back to grasp his shoulders. “I won’t hurt you. Come on, Goro, please.”

“No—no, please—”

But there was no resistance when Akira nudged Goro backwards and forced him to raise his head. There were bruises on his neck and face, one eye swelling an eerie purplish black. Further examination revealed that he had been hurt on his chest, waist, and inner thighs. As Akira gently prodded each bruise, Goro whined softly, covering his face with his hands.

“I told you…” He sniffled. “I’m ugly, I’m dirty…”

“You’re not,” Akira told him, frowning. He pulled Goro into a hug, stroking his hair. “The people who did this to you are ugly. You’re not ugly. You’re my friend.”

He didn’t know why that last part was relevant, but Goro laughed a little anyway, hugging Akira tighter. They didn’t leave the pond until Goro stopped crying and then Akira took him to his house, sharing his dinner which had already been prepared beforehand. Akira’s mother never minded—she was always accommodating Goro like this, letting him stay late and baking him sweets and making nice with his foster parents.

_“You were the closest thing I had to family, Akira.”_

The words play in Akira’s head like a broken record.

“You did _what?_ ” Ann’s hysterical voice sounds over the phone, just as Akira wakes up and calls her the next day with nervousness chewing at his insides.

“I know,” Akira replies, biting his thumb. “… I wasn’t thinking.”

“Wow,” Ryuji’s voice comes next, and with how far away it sounds Akira can only assume he’s been put on speaker. “Dude, do you have like, iron guts or something? Jeeeez. Anyways, at least it kinda worked. What’re you gonna do now?”

“I don’t know. I kind of just… let it happen.”

“That’s _so_ like you,” Ann sighs, and if Akira could see her now, he’d guess she’d be frowning at this juncture. “You never think things through! Luckily, I know what to do in these kinds of situations.”

“You do?” Akira and Ryuji say simultaneously, and Ann harrumphs.

“Of course! Otherwise, I wouldn’t bring it up. Anyways—” There’s some shuffling, and then Ann’s voice is returning to the speaker, a distinctly chipper lilt to her voice. “I think you should be forward with him. He’s your friend, right? You’re not gonna get to him if you beat around the bush.” She makes some chewing noises, and, _of course_ —she’d grabbed some snacks to entertain herself during the conversation. Akira huffs.

“I’m afraid he’s not gonna like what I’ll say.”

Ryuji groans audibly. “Dude.” Even he sounds exasperated.

“What?”

“All you do is rant about this Akechi guy,” Ryuji says, “and frankly, the lack of action you’re getting here is kinda annoying. Hurry up and do something about it! Otherwise we’ll have to deal with you crying over your nonexistent love life for several days.”

“He makes a point,” Ann pipes up. Akira rolls his eyes.

“Siding with Ryuji again?”

“Hey, man.” Ryuji says it like a warning, and Akira can’t contain the snort he makes at the sound.  

“Sorry, sorry. But yeah. I’ll consider it.”

The afternoon following that conversation, Akira spends most of the time waiting for Goro to text him. When he does, they have a brief but pleasant conversation, and Goro agrees the meet him at Leblanc after school—out-of-the-way enough that Akira can tell Goro what he needs to and Goro can escape the noses of the paparazzi. It’s two more days until Goro finds an open spot in his schedule, and Akira finds himself sitting anxiously at the counter of Leblanc, drumming his fingers against its surface.

“Waiting for someone?” Sojiro asks, and Akira shrugs.

“Something like that.”

Sojiro grunts. “Then why don’t you go make your friend a coffee?”

With no reason to argue, Akira joins Sojiro behind the counter. The older man had taught Akira the basics of brewing a cup, just in case he couldn’t be there to make one for him; just as Akira thought, he was a natural at it.

Sojiro retreats into the kitchen to make curry, and Akira gets to work on the coffee. They don’t speak much after that, the drone of the TV being the only noise in the empty café. Akira hates how sweaty he becomes by the time he hears the entrance bell chime, and he sets aside the freshly-brewed cup, soothing his throat with water.

“Akira-san,” Goro says, looking marginally uncomfortable standing underneath the doorway. Akira nods by way of greeting.

“Sit in front of me. And it’s just Akira, remember?”

“R-Right…” Goro stalls, and then reluctantly takes a seat upon the stool across from him. “Akira. I’m sorry, this is so… sudden, and unfamiliar.”

Akira laughs. “It’s okay. Come on, loosen up around me, we’re friends.”

Even though the words leave his mouth fairly easily, it still leaves a bitter taste at the back of his throat. At least, Goro looks relieved, and that alone is enough to quell his unease. Akira retrieves the cup next to him and sets it in front of Goro, who examines it as a detective would a crime scene. And then Goro speaks, “You can make coffee?”

Akira smirks proudly. “I graduated from instant coffee long ago.”

That encourages a soft chuckle from Goro’s end, a sound that feels right and warm in Akira’s heart. Delicately, the detective raises the cup to his lips, sipping slowly. What emerges is a soft gasp and wide-eyed expression that eventually morphs into one of pleasure.

“This is exquisite!”

Akira laughs, bubbly and bright. So he still uses that word.

“You can thank me for teaching the guy,” says Sojiro from the back, and Goro perks up, unexpecting of that sudden comment. Akira jerks his chin towards the side.

“That’s Boss.” He smiles. “The one who owns this place.”

“Ah… so you work here?” Goro asks, content to sip at his coffee.

“No, I just live here. But I help out from time to time.”

Goro hums, his cup clinking against the countertop as he sets it down. “Well, I must say that you have quite the skill for someone who just ‘helps out’.” That causes something happy to swell in Akira’s chest. Licking his lips, Akira leans across the counter and casts his gaze towards Goro’s hands, which are concealed by soft leather gloves. He resists the urge to touch them.

“So…” He tilts his head, parts of his fringe obscuring his eyes. “A detective, huh?”

“Hm?” Goro notices him staring and flexes his fingers, reaching to hold onto his coffee. “Ah—yes. It’s what I was best at in high school. That is…” He coughs slightly. “I was scouted by a… higher-up, so to speak, after unofficially assisting with an investigation in Shibuya. They were shocked by my deductive skills, so they decided to take me in as an apprentice.”

Akira lofts his brows. “An apprentice, huh.” He can’t help the quote that escapes his lips. “‘Unless we defeat evil, we can forget about a bright future’.”

Part of Goro seems to brighten at the words, and he whispers, “You still watch that?”

Akira’s cheeks hurt with how widely he smiles. “Sometimes, when I can.” That’s a lie, as he’s been avoiding it recently due to recent events. “Though it’s obvious that you still do.”

“Oh…” Goro nods, blushing slightly. “Yes, that’s true.”

Akira's grin turns mischievous. “Being a detective is a little bit like being White Crow, don’t you think?”

“A-Akira… !” Goro’s cheeks flare even hotter. “We were children!”

Akira bursts into laughter, while Goro’s lips settle into a pout that’s half-embarrassed, half-amused. It’s an angelic sight. However, Akira feels himself deflate a little, remembering the entire reason they had to reunite in the first place. The thought alone makes his mirth die down into an expression of relative disquiet.

“… Goro,” he begins, voice dropping an octave as he leans closer. He turns ideas over in his head, wondering how to phrase them. _There’s no way to sugarcoat it. Just let it come out._

_You’ve been agonizing over this for months, you can’t just let it go._

“What happened all those years ago?” he murmurs, quiet with anxiety.

Goro’s face falls. He lowers his eyes. “I suppose it was inevitable.” He turns his chin back up, but the smile on his face is bitter, almost plastic. “It would be cruel to keep you in the dark, wouldn’t it? … I don’t suppose we could go somewhere more private?”

Akira sends a cursory glance in Sojiro’s direction, noticing that the man is preoccupied with the curry. Then, nodding, Akira rounds the counter and ushers Goro forward, making sure the detective is still behind him as he ascends the stairs.

His attic is cold when he breaches the top step. He moves to sit down on the couch, watching as Goro enters the room and habitually begins to examine it. His gaze rakes its contents like a true investigator, sharp and calculating despite the monotony of the attic itself. Soon, he turns to face Akira. “So this is where you’ve been boarding?”

Akira sinks into the cushions. “Yes. Not very romantic, but—”

“No. It’s charming.”

Akira smiles, watching Goro take stock of his surroundings. It registers a beat too late, but—before he has the sense enough to notice, Goro’s eyes are widening, fixated with something on the wall behind Akira’s couch.

“O-Oh! I… didn’t realize they made posters of me.”

Akira blinks. And then goes bright red.

_I forgot about my fucking Goro Akechi collection!_

He wants to die on the spot. Yet despite his increasing shame, he doesn’t react fast enough to Goro sifting through a nearby magazine rack. “This… Ah, I remember this photoshoot. You even have this exclusive from a couple months back.” Goro falls silent, turning a similar shade of red at the implications. “Um… I don’t mean to sound rude, but… this is quite the collection you’ve garnered of me.”

Akira screams internally, though his outer disposition is as calm as he can manage it. “Well.” He huffs. “I couldn’t resist it. After I found out you were a minor celebrity in Tokyo, this all kind of just…” He gestures wildly. “Built up.”

Goro returns one of the magazines to its rack. “Is that so?”

“… Yes…” Akira trails off. “I really wanted to find you, Goro…”

That softens the expression on Goro’s face. He continues walking around, idly brushing his fingers against the desk, the wall, Akira’s duvet. “How curious…”

Slowly, Goro turns around to face him. Akira gestures to the open space on the couch, but Goro merely shakes his head. He parts with the shelf he had been observing and crosses the distance between them, choosing to stand a mere foot apart from Akira. Indeed, his posture denotes anything but confidence—he’s turned away, head tilted slightly downward, shoulders hunched in anxiety. It’s so reminiscent of the younger Goro that Akira’s thoughts turn into fuzz.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’d found my father?” Goro says quietly, voice dripping with unbridled resentment.

Akira’s limbs seem to lock in place. “… _What?_ ”

“My father left us when I was young,” Goro elaborates, scowling. “My mother committed suicide shortly after his disappearance. Because of that, I was tossed around to multiple foster homes… One of them happened to be in your hometown.” He smiles, a hint of both sadness and gratitude lining it. “One day, I received news from the investigator who had agreed to help me find my father. She revealed that he was in Chiyoda, bathing in the riches of his political success.

“I was livid. He had discarded us in order to further his political agenda. How could I not be angry with such a despicable man?” The smile on his face turns cold, unfeeling. “It became my personal mission to exact revenge on him. I spent the rest of my adolescence kissing up to him, proving my worth to him… In the end, it paid off. I earned his trust and finally got the bastard in jail. People cheered on my accomplishments… but I kept it away from the press.”

All at once, the pieces click together. Akira can’t withhold the gasp of realization that escapes him. “You mean… Masayoshi Shido—?”

Goro sighs. “Yes. You’re quite sharp.”

Akira flounders, all coherent thought vanishing like wisps of wind. He curls and uncurls his fists, working over his bottom lip with his teeth. “I… I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“Don’t be sorry. I didn’t tell you.” Finally, finally, Goro takes the seat next to Akira. Leans a little bit forward, looking him in the eye. “… Truthfully, I should be the one apologizing, Akira. I’m sorry I left you alone without a moment’s notice.”

Akira shudders. His eyes start to water, on the brink of overflowing.

“N… No. I-It’s okay. I—” He brings up his sleeve, dragging it furiously over his eyes. _God. Why are you crying? Stop crying. Stop crying—_

 _—_ Memories burst in the forefront of his mind. Goro licking ice cream. Goro laughing. Crying, blushing, falling into the pond, stuffing his hands in Akira's sweater pocket, kissing him at the top of the Ferris wheel, eating rice out of Akira's chopsticks, turning his back,  _leaving—_

“I-I-I was just so… _worried_ ,” Akira starts to blubber, and _oh god,_ he's crying now, shutting his eyes tight. “And I didn’t know whether—whether you hated me or not, I just assumed… that you didn’t want to talk to me anymore, or that you had forgotten me, or that you hated me, or—”

He chokes back a sob. _Stop_ _it, you’re making a scene._ But he doesn’t stop. Can’t force himself to. He bites on the inside of his palm, attempting to staunch the flow of tears. Goro is at his side immediately, a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Akira wants to fall into his embrace, bury his face in his neck, inhale his scent. Even now, he feels his old habits waking back up, the natural inclination to hold Goro’s hand or wrap his arms around his waist. He holds back, though. He doesn’t want to ruin it. Whatever they have, whatever brokenness they’re trying to mend. _We’re too fragile,_ he thinks, glumly. _It won’t work._

“I-I’m sorry…” He sniffles, voice hoarse and unsteady. “I didn’t mean to cry.”

Goro looks at a loss for words. He shakes his head, removing the hand on Akira’s shoulder. “Please don’t apologize. Again, I… I’m sorry I didn’t contact you sooner. I was so caught up in my revenge, I—” He averts his gaze. “… I wasn’t sure how it’d go over if I called. I thought you might hate me.”

That last part is said in a whisper. Akira creases his brows.

“What? No, never,” he blusters. His voice is still choked with tears. He leans forward, rests his hands on his thighs and watches them tremble. “I would _never_ hate you, Goro. You were my best friend, I don’t think I would even… _try_ to hate you, I mean… I _loved_ you.”

Goro’s breath hitches. A whirlwind of emotions passes his face at once, and he ducks his head, biting down hard on his lip. “… I don’t know what to say, Akira,” he admits.

“… Then…” A pause. Taking a deep breath, Akira parts his lips and whispers, “What do you _want_ to say?”

Goro looks up from his knees. “What?”

“What do you want to get from this?” Akira continues, resolve growing stronger now. “I know what I want, but… I want to know what _you_ think. So—” He inhales sharply, meets Goro’s gaze. “What _do_ you think, Goro?”

Goro falls silent. Unable to maintain his composure any longer, his head dips down, and he hugs his chest as he begins to shrink into himself. “I… I-I want us to be friends again, Akira… What more could I want?” He breathes in deeply, facing away from Akira. “It’s… more than I could ever ask for.”

A gleeful smile breaks out on Akira’s face. He laughs, breathy and incredulous, shaking his head fervently as if to wake himself from this dream. “Y-Yeah… I want the same thing, Goro.” He pitches forward to better look Goro in the eye. “I want us to start over, you and I. Can we do that?”

“ _Yes._ ” Goro's eyes widen, and he covers his mouth with his sleeve. “I-I mean—yes, please.”

“Okay. Okay.” Akira’s laughter spills out of him suddenly, loud and brighter than ever. He presses his palms to his eyes, trying to stop himself from shaking. “We can do that. Let’s do that. And we’re starting now, so don’t you dare back out on me.”

“Is it really that easy?” Goro murmurs. Akira laughs even harder.

“Of course it is! Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I just…” Instead of continuing that sentence, Goro whispers, “Thank you. Thank you for accepting me.”

Akira grins and puts a hand on Goro’s shoulder, watching as the boy smiles gratefully at him. Akira’s heart seizes in his chest. _This is real,_ he tells himself, over and over in his head, until his smile stretches to the point of aching, _this is real, this is real, this is real._

 _Oh my god, this is real._ This isn’t a dream.

Knowing this, a floaty feeling takes form in his chest. He can’t deny it, his heartbeat like a drum and his skin running hot as he flushes.

“I’m happy,” Akira whispers, more to himself than anyone else. “… I’m sorry I got all emotional on you. I promise this usually doesn’t happen.”

A light giggle tumbles from Goro’s mouth. “Don’t worry, I understand it quite well.”

“Good. Nice.” At this point, it’s hard not to look so stupid and in love because Akira can feel his heart bursting at the idea that there’s no distance anymore, that they can talk to each other and be in each other’s presence. “Um, then, I’m sure I’ve held you up long enough. You have something to return to, am I right?”

Goro nods. “Yes, unfortunately… but rest assured, I will let you know the next time I am free. Shouldn’t be long from now.” He flashes Akira a smile, standing and leaving a draft where his body warmth used to be. “Thank you, then, for reaching out to me. Really, it’s been amazing seeing you again, Akira… I can’t even express it in words.”

“Me neither,” Akira confesses, voice breathy because damn, Goro is dreamy as hell. “I guess I’ll see you later, then… ?”

“Of course.” Goro nods at him, and then he’s reassuming his professional air, straightening his blazer and slipping on his shoes. “I’ll message you, too.”

“Looking forward to it.” Akira can’t hide his delight at the notion.

Minutes after Goro descends the rickety staircase, Akira stares out of the bedroom window and picks out the stars in the sky. Each one is more dazzling than before, and he loses himself in the wondrousness of the sight, seconds ticking into hours before his phone finally pings with a message.

**Goro: I arrived home just now.**

A smile pulls at Akira’s lips.

**Akira: Good. How was work?**

**Goro: Boring, to be quite honest. But I’m sure you have better things to talk about than to just hear me ramble about my job.**

**Akira: Actually, no, I don’t.**

**Akira: Besides, I’d love to hear about your job.**

**Goro: You flatter me…**

**Goro: Putting that aside, it’s rather late. I’m sorry to bother you at such an ungodly hour. I’m afraid I will have to end our conversation here.**

**Akira: No worries. You should get some rest.**

**Goro: You too. Goodnight, Akira.**

**Akira: Sweet dreams.**

He rolls over on his bed, smiling stupidly. And then he turns off his phone, stares at the ceiling, and remembers the stars that had shone on his ceiling so long ago. Maybe he should buy some again. It would be a lot better than staring at the wood beams of the attic, to be honest.

 _I wonder what Goro’s bedroom looks like,_ he muses, nuzzling into his pillows. _Now that I think about it, I’d never been to his room at his foster family’s house. Maybe it was for the best._

_But he's free, now, and that's what matters._

Another smile plays on Akira’s lips. Free. What a strange and spectacular word. Goro has freedom, now, freedom from an oppressive system and hateful father. Just what can he do with it, now that he has it? Maybe make time for Akira?

Akira’s eyes drift shut, contentment filling him as he thinks of all the things they can do. They can go on lunch dates. They can visit each other’s houses. They can rewatch Phoenix Ranger Featherman R and talk about their favorite episodes. They can…

… The list goes on. Akira goes over them ten times and then slowly, slowly, falls asleep.

His dreams are of a starry-eyed boy, whose desire to play White Crow comes to life.

 

* * *

 

Akira goes downstairs the next day. The coffee that Akira thought Goro abandoned on the counter yesterday sits empty on the counter, drained of every last drop. Next to it, a note sits, hastily scrawled as if last minute.

_The coffee was delicious. I underestimated you._

Akira smiles, and it sticks for hours.


	5. his laugh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! sorry for getting this out late, i was so swamped with work i couldn't finish it in time. but here it is and it's kinda messy so i hope it's to everyone's liking;;;;;
> 
> there is some content in here that is suggestive of p5 spoilers! so if you don't wanna get spoiled hard past okumura's palace, i recommend that you put this chapter on hold ^^;;

“Akira.”

“… Yes?”

“Please tell me you took down these posters before meeting with Goro Akechi.”

Akira groans, running his fingers through his hair. Ann and Ryuji had barged in while he and Futaba were eating breakfast, demanding that he tell them the juicy details of his reunion. Futaba, who hadn’t been let in on the specifics in the first place, was understandably confused—but, once Ann had explained to the girl what the deal was, she was on board.

“So that’s a no,” Futaba snickers quietly, sitting cross-legged on his bed.

Akira pouts, turning an embarrassing shade of red as he massages his neck. “Do I really need to answer that?”

“Oh my god.” Ann throws her head back, a palm on her forehead. “Nerd.”

“Seriously, dude,” Ryuji says also. “You’re an idiot.”

Futaba’s smile widens. “Both true. Also, you’re really gay.”

“I’m glad that we agree on those fronts,” Ann cheers, high-fiving Futaba. They’ve only been acquainted for twenty minutes (Futaba having been a mess of nerves the first five) and they’re already finding things to relate to each other. All having to do with Akira. And his misfortunes. Akira sighs, removing the fingers in his hair.

“Can we just…” he mutters, and takes a deep breath as he looks around, “I don’t know, forget about that part? He didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he was flattered.”

“For real?” Ryuji’s snort is the loudest thing in the room next to Futaba’s constant giggling. “I dunno, man, I’d be freaked out if I saw my face plastered all over somebody’s room. Kinda feel like you’re getting stalked, y’know?”

“ _Ryuji!_ ”

The three of them burst into laughter, causing Akira’s frown to deepen. He releases a sigh, sinking onto his bed next to Futaba and burying his face in his hands. “I don’t know, okay? I just… I don’t know what he thinks of me. I mean, he _said_ he wanted to be friends with me, but what if he ends up regretting it? I don’t know what I’d do.”

At once, their laughter dies down. Ann takes the spot next to Akira and rubs his back comfortingly. “Hey, don’t be like that. I thought you two used to be close. Why _wouldn’t_ he want to go back to that?”

“I—” Akira exhales. “I don’t know.”

“Honestly, man,” Ryuji drawls languidly. “It’s freaking weird seeing you like this. You’re supposed to be sure of everything you do, not second-guessing yourself.”

Blushing harder, Akira lowers his eyes and mumbles, “It’s because it’s Goro.”

“What?”

“It’s because it’s Goro!” he blurts louder. At that precise moment, Ann pulls this fantastic face—complete with wide eyes, an elated smile, and raised eyebrows—and clasps her hands together, the sound ringing loudly throughout the room.

“Aww!” She practically swoons, leaning forward to shake Akira to the point of dizziness. “That’s so _cute!_ You really like him, don’t you, Akira?”

Akira scoffs, trying to diffuse the blush on his face. “Of course. How could I not?”

“Eww, Akira’s in love.” Futaba gags in faux-disgust, though not even that is enough to prevent her from smiling. She punches him lightly on the shoulder. “Just don’t bring any of your flirting near Leblanc, got it? At least when I’m not around.”

“It’s not flirting.” Akira frowns. “It’s called being a decent human being.”

“Decent human beings don’t text hearts to their crush within a few days of getting their number, but whatever floats your boat, I guess.”

Akira opens his mouth to retaliate, but realizes he’s got nothing good to say to that. Really, it had been a bit of an accident; Goro messaged him that morning, and they commiserated about their job before Akira wished him luck with detective work—adding a heart at the end by force of habit. Goro hadn’t responded negatively, at least… Not that he could see, anyway.

“Are you gonna meet up with him again?” Ann asks, and Akira shrugs.

“Whenever he wants to. He’s a busy man.”

“He must be,” Ryuji mutters. “I swear I hear his obnoxious voice on the TV or radio almost everyday. I don't get how a detective can be so damn popular!”

“He’s an icon,” Futaba says, scratching her cheek. “Based on what I see online, people look up to him. Especially kids my age. They see him as the ‘picture of perseverance’ or something like that. Not to mention, he’s pretty.”

Akira can’t argue with that.

“Let’s just… not talk about this right now. I know you guys like to live vicariously through me due to your own lack of romance, but—”

“Oh, ruuuude!” Futaba sticks out her tongue. Ryuji even flips him off.

“Not cool, man,” he grumbles, and Ann and Akira laugh.

Nevertheless, for the rest of the time, they browbeat him for various matters—many of which may or may not concern Goro Akechi, Akira’s own horrendous social skills, and the way he handles his messy appearance. At one point their curiosity runs dry and they resort to playing video games on Akira’s old TV, dropping the subject entirely.

“Oh—” Akira picks up his phone as it pings from beside him. Ryuji leans over to peek at his notification.

**Junji: Hey.**

“Who’s that?” Ryuji frowns.

“It’s—” Akira pauses. Probably not best to bring it up. “It’s an acquaintance.”

**Junji: I haven’t seen you since the TV station, you know.**

Akira furrows his brows. Right. He’s been neglecting his friends recently—all of them. In fact, the only reason Ryuji and Ann could see him now is because they forced their way in.  

**Ai: Are you okay? It’s been a few days since you messaged us.**

**Akira: Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Sickness was strong.**

**Katsue: I know how that can get… Bright lights and commuting make me dizzy, too. And the way Akechi-kun put you on the spot like that? No wonder you felt nervous. That’s probably why you got so sick.**

**Akira: Right…**

_Wrong._ He feels bad that he had to lie about why he couldn’t leave the TV station with them, but it was a necessary precaution. They couldn’t know what he was up to.

“Akira,” Ryuji says, jamming into his shoulder, “the next race is about to start.” Akira mutters sullenly under his breath, then returns his attention to his phone.

**Akira: I’ll text you guys when I’m free. Sorry.**

**Junji: Hope we can hang out again soon.**

**Ai: And if you ignore us, we’ll find you.**

**Katsue: Feel better!**

Akira sighs and chuckles, closing the chat. At that exact moment, another message notification pops up, this one hailing from Goro. Akira’s heart catches in his chest. He looks at Ryuji, who is still staring at him to put the phone down. He doesn’t.

“Start without me,” he says quickly. “I’ll just sit in last place for now.”

“Loser.” Futaba cackles, and Akira, rolling his eyes, checks the message.

**Goro: Are you free tomorrow afternoon?**

Immediately, heat floods to his cheeks. His mouth runs dry at the thought. He types out his response, ignoring how his phone almost slips from his grasp.

**Akira: Yes. I have work at the Underground Mall until 3:00, but after that I’m okay.**

**Goro: Excellent. I will pick you up at work then for our outing.**

_Pick me up? Oh my god._ Darting his tongue over his lips, Akira hastily answers back.

**Akira: Okay. It’s the flower shop on the corner.**

**Goro: I know the one.**

He smiles, and he doesn’t notice he’s showing teeth until Futaba screeches, “Holy crap, look how wide that smile is!”

Ann pounces on him immediately, her game controller lost somewhere on the bed. “Is it Akechi-kun?” she pipes up, and Akira yelps as she reaches into his lap.

“Hey, what do you think you’re—”

“It _is!_ ”

She snatches the phone out of his hand, waving it around for all to see. Ryuji’s eyes go wide. Futaba squeals. The three of them explode into a bundle of banter, and poor Akira is left to sink into his bed, letting the questions overwhelm him to the point of numbness.

“You’re going on a _date_ with him?”

“He said he’s gonna pick you up!”

“Oh my god, you better sneak pictures.”

“Give me back my phone,” Akira snarls, plucking it out of Ann’s hands. “And no, it’s not a date. We’re just hanging out.”

That doesn’t disillusion her, however. “I’m gonna make sure this date goes A-OK!” Ann grins, flinging an arm over Akira’s shoulders. “I’ll be coming at your house with some awesome outfits and you better try them on for me. It’s for research purposes.”

“Research purposes,” Akira deadpans.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” he sighs, rubbing his temples, “fine. I’ll see where this goes.”

“Yay!”

Their excitement gets them to the point where they loiter around until the evening, and then Ann and Ryuji are bidding Akira their goodbyes, exiting the shop with an extra bounce in their step. Futaba turns to Akira once they’re gone. She’s still high on energy, the social interaction having been a huge boost for her, but her eyes are calmer now. More somber.

“Akira. Can I…” She twiddles her thumbs. The confidence from being in a group is seemingly sapped from her, anxiety taking hold at their solitude. “Can I tell you something? Because I’ve been wanting to tell Sojiro, but…”

“Okay.” He tilts his head at her. “What is it?”

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Futaba flops down onto the couch and crosses her legs. “Goro Akechi… He was partners with Masayoshi Shido, wasn’t he?”

Akira pauses for a second. And then, “Yes.”

“Recently, it’s been confirmed that Shido had been blackmailing associates to do… unspeakable things,” she confesses, voice a smidge softer. “He wouldn’t say what, though. That’s all they could squeeze out of him during interrogation.”

Akira’s heart sinks. “… Even Goro?”

Futaba nods slowly. “Probably. But the charges brought against Shido are insane. Even…” All of a sudden, she blanches, pitching forward as she takes a deep breath.

“He was even… confirmed to have caused the death of my mother.”

Akira’s hand flies to his mouth. The gasp that escapes him is unbidden. “Y-Your—?”

“Yes… that _bastard_ ,” she mutters, gnashing her teeth. “I knew someone was involved in her murder… It was highly methodical. Not even _I_ could crack it. This confession he made just explains it…” Lifting herself from her lap, she reveals a tear-stained countenance and clenched fists. “More than anything… I’m glad that’s behind bars.”

Akira nods jerkily, the weight of the revelation still suffocating him. “O-Of course.”

“—So—” Futaba inhales a sharp breath. “I know this is a weird thing to ask, but… can you thank Goro Akechi for me? When you see him?”

Akira knits his brows. “ _Thank_ him?”

“Yeah.” Futaba hops off of the couch, wrapping her arms around herself. “Although he doesn’t want to say it, he was the lead witness in this case. Collected evidence against Shido for years in secret. I know he’s probably had to endure a lot just by being under his influence…” She shakes her head. “But yeah, if not for him, I don’t think I’d have ever found out the truth about my mother. It’s all thanks to his perseverance.”

Akira nods, wordlessly. He does remember Goro mentioning something like that. _Though for him to have been partners with such a vile man…_ The implications are nerve-wracking. He just hopes Goro wasn’t forced to do anything unpleasant.

His phone rings with another notification.

**Goro: Don’t forget about our meeting tomorrow.**

He types out his response, the cold feeling in his gut dissipating.

**Akira: How could I forget? I'm so excited.**

But the excitement is second to the dread that takes swiftly its place.

“Hey… Futaba?” he says, his mind hatching an idea. “Before you go…”

 

* * *

 

There is a loud ding as his phone vibrates. A bit too quickly, Goro dives across the table to reach his phone, unlocking it to see the message that has arrived.

**Akira: How could I forget? I’m so excited.**

Goro releases a breath through his nose, a ghost of a smile on his face as he texts back.

“Messaging someone?” Makoto asks from beside him, her nose buried in a book. Not an uncommon occurrence, to say the least—she’s been swamped with work from the police academy. “I have to say, that’s unlike you.”

“Ah…” Goro’s smile stretches into something pleasant, and it’s more of a habit than anything, some of the genuinity lost on it. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“What’s the big deal then?”

“Oh, I’ve—” Goro face heats up. “I’ve recently reconnected with an old friend of mine, and we’ve been keeping in touch, catching up on each other’s lives.”

“Is that so?” Makoto looks up. There’s an amused twinkle in her eye, challenging, somewhat, but mostly curious. “Making friends, huh. I’m happy for you, Goro. That’s something you don’t see everyday with your line of work.”

“Oh, please…” Goro scowls, but it’s softened by the overwhelming amount of fondness that he has for this girl, who is practically like his sibling. _Or mother,_ he muses, _given how much she nags me around. Just like her older sister._ He shakes his head in amusement. “Anyways, Makoto, you say that when you, yourself, haven’t been making any new friends.”

“Wha—Goro!” Blushing, Makoto hides her face in her book, hunching her shoulders. “You think I have _time_ for that?”

“I thought you implied that _I_ was the one with no time for that?”

“… Touché.”

Goro chuckles, then goes back to staring at his phone before he hears the sound of the door opening. When he looks up, he spies Sae’s displeased expression from afar. There’s no greeting when she enters. Just a sigh, and then she’s leaning down to remove her heels. Makoto notices this tension, too. In fact, she goes stiff as if expecting what’s to come.

“Sae-san?” Goro begins cordially, watching her cross the length of the living room. “I thought you were going to be coming back rather late.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Her gaze slides in Makoto’s direction. There is something tense in her disposition; it’s not unusual, although the touch of anxiety in her expression is alarming enough. “Makoto, may the detective and I have some privacy, please? I’ll make it quick, promise.”

Sighing, Makoto slowly rises from the table and sends Goro a warning look before disappearing into the hallway. Sae watches her go, and then sits down across from Goro.

“I’ve located the target.”

Interest prickles up Goro’s skin immediately, and he leans forward, tapping his gloved hands against the table’s surface. “I was correct in my conjecture, then?”

“Yes.” Sae reaches into her coat, pulling out a sealed envelope. “He’s been hiding under a false name in an apartment in Osaka. His whole family is there, too, despite the fact that he has many houses in Tokyo where they can stay instead.” Her grip on the envelope tightens, and she draws back reflexively when he tries to take it. “Are you sure you want to do this, Akechi-kun?”

“Of course,” he says self-assuredly, grabbing the envelope out of her hands. “Someone like him doesn’t deserve a second chance… I’m doing the world a favor.” Crinkling the fabric of the envelope with how tightly his fingers hold it, he drops it on his lap and reassumes his Detective Prince charm. “I’ll be sure to carry out my plan soon, as always. I just need all the right preparations. You’ll assist me, won’t you?”

Sae narrows her eyes at him, her lips downturned. “Where I can, yes. The director spoils you, though, and I assume he’ll give you everything you need.”

“I’m glad to hear it, then.” Goro smiles, a direct contrast to the bitterness boiling in his veins. “Well—I thank you for your hard work. In no time, I will have snuffed out all of his confidants… and then the last of _that man’s_ influence will be forever imprisoned.”

“… I hope you’ll be careful out there, Akechi-kun.” The look Sae gives him, then, is enough to make the irritation itching beneath the surface swell into a burn.

He grits his teeth. “Aren’t I always?”

She shrugs, and then stands out of her seat, working at the buttons of her coat. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Akechi-kun.” And then she’s gone.

Exhaling through his nose, Goro lets himself slide further down his seat, a headache pulling at his temples. The envelope feels heavy in his lap. Before he can let the dregs of fatigue tug him into rest, he pushes back his chair, heading into the kitchen. The coffee maker is there, and that’s all he needs. It would do him well to put some caffeine in his system.

 _Although…_ He frowns. _I’d prefer_ his _coffee over this anytime._

Shaking his head, Goro reaches for his favorite blend and gets to work.

 

* * *

 

The next day at the flower shop, Akira is a bundle of nerves. He arranges bouquets for his customers, jittery and a little clumsy, which Hanasaki takes notice of. But she doesn’t push it—as long as he’s getting the job done right, then there’s nothing to worry about. Granted, he takes a little slower than usual, and some of the flowerpots he almost knocks over, but no permanent damage is done and he’s free from Hanasaki’s discipline until the end of his shift.

Which _would_ be the “end”, but then one last customer shows up.

“Goro!” Akira blurts, stumbling a little bit as he rushes to the front of the store. Goro is there, prim and proper, lacking his detective outfit and instead donning a light sweater. _Thank god for that,_ Akira muses, _I was beginning to get worried that he’d get too hot in that get-up._

As for Akira—well. That morning, Ann and Futaba had promptly burst in, dressing him in the same manner Ai did only days before—except with more manhandling. They’d prepared an outfit consisting of a black v-neck shirt, dark wash jeans, and a light grey cardigan (which he ended up ditching on the side of the flower shop, along with his bag).

Needless to say, Akira walked out of that attic feeling like a new man—integrated in the city and far from his old life in the country.

“Akira,” Goro says suddenly, and waves a hand in front of his face, “are you all right?”

“What?” He blinks, realizing he had been staring at Goro with increasing fixation. He clears his throat. “Oh, um, yeah. Just thought it was refreshing to see you in different clothes.”

 _Oh, wow. Why did I say that?_ But Goro just chuckles, a light and embarrassed sound that causes Akira’s heart to flutter. “How flattering of you to say… I don’t seem to remember you ever wearing glasses, either. Is that a new thing?”

“The glasses?” Self-aware now, Akira adjusts them. “I mean, not really? I started wearing them in middle school. Oh, but I guess I hadn’t been wearing the two times we’d met. Sometimes I forget to put them on, they’re not really… necessary, I guess.”

“I see.” Goro smiles timidly. “Well, they suit you.”

Akira tries not to let that statement hurl him into catatonia. “Th—Thank you. Um… I’ll just be a few minutes and then we can get going. Did you have any place in mind?”

Goro makes a show of cupping his chin and leaning his weight onto one side. “Mm, I was thinking we could go for a walk in the park—although, it seems by this time you might be a little hungry, yes? I’m raring for a meal, as well.”

The extent of which Goro can speak to him without stuttering is remarkable. _I guess years of being on TV can do that to you,_ Akira thinks, a smile quirking on his lips.

“Then, why don’t we go to your favorite restaurant?”

“ _My_ favorite restaurant?” Goro’s eyes widen. He looks confused, disturbed, even, before he lets the expression fade into something more neutral. “That… _is_ a rather difficult question. I suppose a popular restaurant would be—”

“Akira!”

Both of their heads turn at the same time.

Immediately, Akira’s eye catches on the group who had been calling his name—none other than his fellow Goro fans Junji, Ai, and Katsue. Upon sighting Goro, however, the three divert their attention to the detective with wide eyes and startled gasps.

_Oh, shit._

Ai speaks first, her hands clasped over her mouth. “I-Is that—”

Like a criminal caught red-handed, Akira hurriedly distances himself from Goro, stalking toward Ai and dragging her and the others around the corner. Junji and Katsue are still openly gaping, frozen as Akira tries to get Ai to stop blathering.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.”

“I can’t _believe_ that was Goro Akechi, was he talking to you, oh my _god_ —”

“Ai!” Akira uses his stern leader voice, which, all things considered, is not as effective when he’s blushing as red as the tomatoes in his aunt’s farm. “Listen, okay? I’ll explain it to you. I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but—”

“But?”

“Goro Akechi is my—”

“He’s your _boyfriend?_ ”

“What?” Akira flushes harder. “No! Okay, well—no, no, he’s not. He’s just an old friend. From elementary school. Okay? You don’t need to get all flustered.”

Ai’s brows shoot up her head. “ _Old friend?_ Shit! How can I _not_ get flustered when you literally just revealed, _minutes_ after seeing Goro Akechi less than a few feet away from me, that you’ve literally been friends for _years_ and I never knew that you were—”

“ _Ai_.” It’s Junji this time. He looks calmer, more composed, but the shock is still evident on his face. “Calm down, okay? And you—Akira.” His stare sharpens. “This is a pretty big fact that you’ve been hiding from us. Why didn’t you mention it earlier?”

Akira sighs, running a hand through his hair. “… Sorry. I wanted to tell you the truth, but…” He thins his lips—how can he say this? It hadn’t been out of fear. Nor was it him attempting to build a mystery out of himself. Could there have been something bigger at play here—a desire to keep Goro’s memory as his alone? _That’s right,_ he thinks, swiping his tongue over his lip, _Maybe_ _I wanted him all to myself._

“I guess,” he begins, ruffling his hair, “I was just scared that if I told you, you’d start milking me of all the details. I wanted to respect Goro’s privacy, and…” The flush on his face runs hotter. “I didn’t want you to treat me any differently because of it.”

It’s not a lie. More like a half-truth. They don’t question it, and Junji frowns, averting his gaze. “I understand. Honestly, you might even be right.”

“So that’s why you would accidentally call him ‘Goro’?” Katsue asks, rosy-cheeked and coy.

Akira, just barely keeping from dissolving in embarrassment, mirrors her bashful expression. “Yes. He was my best friend back then… But we got separated a long time ago. We never spoke after that. I spent the next few years in the dark, not knowing why Goro had left me… agh, why am I telling you this?” He groans. “He’s literally right there.”

Katsue perks up. “Oh! Right. Junji, should we…”

“Yes, of course. But…” He lets up on the frown. “If you’d like, you could tell us this over lunch another day. It might prove an interesting story, but only if you’re up for it, of course… I wouldn’t want you to reveal anything you didn’t want to.”

Akira puts a hand on Junji’s shoulder, smiling nervously. “Thanks, Junji. And… I’m sorry about not being honest with you with guys.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Junji smiles. “Just run off to your date.”

“Date?” Ai’s jaw falls open, most of the color returned to her face. “So you _are_ dating Akechi-kun—”

“See you later, guys,” Akira blurts, beating it out of there. He doesn’t want to stick around for Ai’s accusations for fear it will reduce him to a puddle on the floor. Very soon, he returns to the flower shop and thanks the heavens that Goro is still standing at the storefront—albeit, looking a little confused—and Akira fixes his appearance a little just before approaching him.

“Goro,” he says, and sighs in relief. “Hey, sorry about that. They were just—”

“Don’t worry. I don’t mind.” Goro tucks his hair behind his ear, smiling shyly. “I don’t show up in public often, so whenever I do, people tend to get… starstruck. I don’t understand why, though. I’m just a detective.”

 _A really hot detective._ Akira shakes his head, modifies the statement before spurting it out. “It’s because you’re cool. That’s all.”

A beautiful shade of red fans out across Goro’s cheeks. He pats down his hair a little as he runs a hand over the back of his head. “Wh—What’s this all of a sudden, Akira?”

“Just the truth.” Akira shrugs, though inside he’s burning up as well. “Protector of justice, only nineteen years old, extremely successful amongst his adult peers… It’s everything a kid could look up to, y’know? And I think it’s impressive, too.”

Goro’s blush deepens with each passing statement. “You… you think so?”

“Yeah.” Akira flushes harder now. “Especially knowing the you from back then.”

Goro looks down at his feet. He shuffles slightly before speaking up, a bit haltingly. “Right. I was an introverted child, wasn’t I?”

Suddenly, the fallen petals on the floor seem _really_ interesting. Akira stuffs his hands in his pockets, trying to quell the unexpected feeling of nervousness in his gut as he struggles with what to say next. “Well… yeah. Honestly, I was a little surprised when I saw you on TV. I never knew you’d become a _celebrity_ , of all things.”

“Hardly a celebrity.” Goro chuckles. When Akira dares to peek up, Goro is staring back at him, a warm but shaky smile on his face. “I appreciate your sentiment, though.”

“Yeah…” Akira massages his neck. “Uh…”

“So…”

“You first,” Akira splutters, and Goro stifles a sheepish laugh.

“S-Sorry. Shall we get going, then?”

“Going?” Akira frowns, racking his brain for the right information. “Oh, right. Weren’t you supposed to pick the restaurant we’d be eating at?”

“I was, but I’ve decided just now that I’d be keeping it a secret.” Goro attempts a wink, and—of course, Akira’s affected immediately. He feels his heart constrict as if pierced by an arrow, and he hides a cough into his elbow, hoping he doesn’t sputter in his shock.

“F-Fine then. Lead the way, detective.”

Goro raises a brow, likely at the nickname, and then shakes his head with a private smile. Akira grabs his belongings and then they're making their way out of the Underground Mall, chatting along the way. It’s surprisingly easy to talk to Goro; despite their many years of separation, he finds they still click about a lot of things, such as what kind of music is good for studying and their favorite things about cats. They also _disagree_ about a lot of things, such as… vanilla shake.

“It’s bland,” Akira argues, already grimacing at the thought.

“It’s perfect the way it is,” Goro shoots right back, “and not overly sweet like some of the things you used to eat as a child. What was it—strawberry and chocolate ice cream with sprinkles and caramel sauce?”

“I can’t believe you still _remember_ that.”

“It’s hard to forget when you’d get it all over the carpet of your house. And my clothes.”

“That was one time!”

“I’m pretty sure I can recall three more.”

Akira pouts, resisting the urge to shove playfully at Goro’s shoulder. He resorts to just crossing his arms over his chest instead. What could be considered normal in this situation, anyway? Two old lovers, reunited after years of silence, and Akira can’t even look at the guy correctly. _Though he did touch my shoulder that one time, didn’t he? Does that mean I can do the same to him?_

It’s a morass of complications and boundaries. Invisible lines, invisible wounds. He doesn’t know whether their conversations are out of familiarity or a poor attempt at covering insecurity. But if Akira had to be honest with himself, this easy banter is just what he needs. Proof that Goro’s revealing parts of himself again. That he’s slowly, surely, opening up to Akira once more, and he’s ready to sink into this familiar routine.

Goro seems a lot more happy this way, anyhow. They arrive at their destination in relatively good spirits, an easy slope to Goro’s shoulders and a light feeling in Akira’s chest. Goro indicates the sign with a tilt of his head. “Well? What do you think?”

“It’s—” Akira squints at the establishment through his glasses. “It’s certainly quaint.”

“You’ll like it, I’m sure.”

“Such confidence,” he teases. His heart still bubbles over with warmth, though, that Goro remains attuned to his preferences even after all these years.

They walk inside and claim adjacent seats by the bar. Goro asks for a menu while Akira sweeps his gaze across the room, taking in the memorabilia and the customer demographic of the old-fashioned café. It’s like Leblanc in its size and overall air, though the atmosphere here is a lot more carefree and welcoming than Leblanc’s drab interior design could ever hope to be.

“Here.” Goro hands him a small card, which apparently acts as the menu. The size of the thing makes Akira physically deflate, but quantity does not equate quality, he supposes.

“Thanks. What are you ordering?”

“Only one of the best items on the list, of course.” He slides closer and points it out on Akira’s card, the heat of his body— _and his scent,_ Akira notes dazedly, catching a whiff of cologne from his skin—stifling the air around them. “Their cinnamon buns are exquisite.”

“That’s… a dessert item,” Akira points out, much to Goro’s immediate disappointment. But the incredulous laugh that follows, along with the tickling breath on Akira’s skin, makes it all the more worth it.  

“Sweet or savory… I find that there’s little difference in filling you up.”

Akira narrows his eyes, accusatory. “You were literally _just_ complaining about my affinity for sweet things, and here you are ordering cinnamon buns for lunch.”

“Ah—I was complaining about your inability to sense when sweetness is _too much_.”

“It’s not a bad thing, is it?” Akira frowns, the curve of his lips tugging into a relieved smile when he sees Goro shake his head.

“No, although I wonder…”

Goro has no chance to finish that sentence as the bartender comes by to take their order. Akira sighs, offhandedly going for a ham and cheese sandwich, and both boys settle for simple waters to quench their thirst. Then they’re turning in their seats to face each other once more.

All of a sudden, Goro’s eyes flit down to Akira’s hands, catching on something he sees there which causes him to gravitate slightly closer.

“Goro?” Akira asks uncertainly.

And suddenly there is the touch of ungloved fingers grazing over his pinky, light and barely there but still making a shiver run up Akira’s spine.

“This scar…” Goro starts softly. “You still have it?”

Akira doesn’t respond at first. He’s too busy thinking, _he’s touching me, our hands are making contact, I can feel how warm he is, oh god what do I say—_

“Yeah,” is all he can get out. He swallows past the dryness in his throat, reaching up with his left hand to adjust his glasses. Goro doesn’t notice, or simply doesn’t care, about Akira’s fidgeting. He leans closer to inspect the scar.

“This was from when you cut your finger from that scuffle in the playground, isn’t it?”

Shakily, Akira nods. “I think I was… protecting you, Goro.”

Goro smiles gratefully—maybe sadly. He shakes his head in amusement. “As always. You never stopped doing reckless things for me, did you, Akira?”

“I couldn’t help it,” Akira admits, and it’s true.

Goro laughs quietly once more. When his fingers press against the scar, Akira twitches minutely, and Goro draws back his hand as if stung. Flustered, Akira tucks his hand into his lap, chancing a glance in Goro’s direction. Goro is flustered, as well—they only make eye contact for a brief second before the detective turns away completely, a palm over his mouth.

“U-Um…”  

“S—Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No,” Akira says quickly, “don’t be.”

_I just overreacted, that’s all. This is normal._

_This is normal… right?_  

Luckily, they are spared further embarrassment when their orders are placed in front of them. Goro visibly brightens, tugging the plate eagerly towards himself and starting to work at the cinnamon buns with his fork. Akira picks up his sandwich, casting a sidelong glance at Goro as he munches on his meal. He looks like a child on Christmas. It’s… extremely cute.

Some of the icing smears on the corner of his lips. Akira wants nothing more than to wipe it with his thumb, taste it against his tongue. His face heats up at the idea.

_God, I’m so gay._

“How do they taste?” he asks, trying to push down his rising feelings of infatuation. Goro, licking the icing away (a movement Akira traces with his eyes), sets down his fork and chews the pastry appraisingly.

“I _did_ say it was one of the best items on the menu,” he comments, after a while. Akira shrugs and stares a little longer before nibbling at his sandwich (which is more delicious than a sandwich has any right to be), a comfortable silence settling between them.

And—it’s a little surreal to be sitting here, eating lunch with his childhood partner. For a moment he’s travelling back in time, listening to Goro rant about Featherman during their lunch break in the classroom. Akira pitches in easily, offers his own opinion, and Goro promptly shoots it down. It feels right, this unabashed show of passion—this lack of inhibition.

Now, in the lazy quiet of their meal, Akira wants to hear the same thing. He wants to hear Goro complain about his day, wants to shoot the breeze with him like friends do. And they are friends, aren’t they? He has that right to be subject to Goro’s rambling, and vice versa.

So he eases it out. Provides an opening. “How’s work been going for you?”

And Goro— _reacting immediately, good_ —lets out a defeated sigh. “… I was expecting you to bring that up. But it’s fine. Really.” He smiles, decidedly less genuine than it had been only minutes ago. “Caught up in some things, sure, but it’ll all work out smoothly. And how is college for you, Akira?”  

“College…” He chews on the inside of his cheek. Redirecting the question back at him, huh.  “Still don’t know what I wanna do.”

“And that’s fine,” Goro reassures him. “I used to be the same way. I was lucky enough to have someone lead me into a path that befit my skills, rocky as it may be.”

 _But was it the path you wanted?_ Akira finds himself thinking, and can't stop thinking about.

His face falls just acknowledging it, as Goro and Akira go back to eating quietly at their lunch. Because admittedly, there’s still so much he doesn’t know about Goro. His past motivations, his goals. The boy had endured so much before he could consider himself independent—before he could really call work “work”, a simple, everyday thing that doesn’t leave a sour taste in his mouth.

And on the day they reunited—when Goro spilled his out heart to him for the very first time since they'd drifted apart—what had Goro meant when he said he spent his adolescence “kissing up” to Shido, the man he so desperately wanted to imprison? And then yesterday—Futaba’s quiet revelation that left his limbs feeling numb—what had _Futaba_ meant when she said that Shido made his associates do “unspeakable things” for him? What was so “unspeakable” about them? What did Goro _do_?

Akira doesn’t want to to press him for details _now_ , of all times. But he’s so curious. So afraid. He had been separated from Goro too long. He couldn’t be there to protect him.

Anything could have happened to him, and that scares Akira to the core of his being.

 _… But I'll be there for him now,_ he thinks. _I'll protect him_ now _when I couldn't before._

_I promise at least that much._

“Do you have anything that interests you at all?” Goro asks suddenly, snapping Akira out of his thoughts. He’s observing Akira intently, as if trying to finger his motivations by appearance alone. “Enough that you might want to pursue it, that is.”

“… Hmm…” He can’t say _you, Goro,_ so he just taps his finger against his sandwich before opening his mouth to speak. “No, not really. Maybe psychology, I guess.”

“Ah.” A smile spreads over Goro’s face. “Psychology, is it? I didn’t expect that of you. You’ve surprised me as always.” His expression is almost fond; Akira’s heart skips a little in his chest, and he takes a deep breath, redirecting his focus onto his sandwich.

“I… I guess.”

“I suppose if you wanted a more solid idea,” Goro continues, unfazed, tracing the table idly with his pointer finger, “you could consider being a barista?”

A pause. Akira cocks his head to the side. “You liked my coffee that much?”

Goro sputters, flinching slightly. “… Y-Yes. You caught me.”

“Aww, how nice of you.” Akira grins, just short of saying _cute_ instead of _nice_. “Well, I guess if I run out of any other options, I could entertain that idea. It sounds pretty sustainable if you ask me. Plus, I’ve heard from a certain celebrity that I can make a really _bomb_ coffee.”

A pretty red flush splashes over Goro’s face. “O-Oh, shut it.”

 _Woah. He just talked back to me._ A sort of redness seeps into Akira’s face in turn, and he starts distractedly scratching the back of his neck. “Haha, um. Anyways, yeah, I wouldn’t mind it. Maybe I should keep helping out around Leblanc to see how that life fits me.”

“Hmm. Maybe…” Goro turns his head away, resting his chin on his palm. “If you do… I might consider coming around the café more often.”

It comes off as neutral just hearing it, but Akira isn’t a fool, and he catches the sly grin that sneaks up on Goro’s lips as the words escape his tongue. Akira’s jaw falls slightly open at the sight. _Was he just flirting back at me?_

… All things considered, this is going to be a long lunch.

 

* * *

 

“Ah… that was splendid.” Goro pats his stomach in satisfaction, an unconscious and vaguely childlike gesture that forces Akira to stifle a laugh. Which—going by the way Goro flicks his gaze up at the sound—is poorly-hidden. Akira smooths the smirk on his face to appear more innocent than it really is, copying Goro’s belly-rubbing motion.

“It was also surprisingly filling. I’m really stuffed.”

“So was I right?” Goro asks, only elaborating when Akira’s features scrunch up in confusion. “About the food being suited to your tastes, I mean.”

“Oh, that.” Akira snorts. “Well, of course. But you know me—”

“You’d eat anything that looks even remotely edible, yes…”

It’s practically an afterthought, and the ease with which the statement comes to Goro is staggering. Part-pride and part-indignity rise to Akira’s chest. “That’s not true,” he protests. “For example, I don’t really like pretzels—the snack kind, I mean, because the aftertaste is really weird and sometimes the stuff will get stuck in my teeth, and even after I brush my teeth I can still kinda _taste_ it there… Eugh—”

Goro laughs sharply, cutting him off. Akira freezes in place. Goro, too, as if he can’t believe the sound that just left his mouth.

“S—Sorry—” He chokes back another helpless laugh, and his eyes widen with it. “Sorry! But… just… for a second, your expression—it was like—”

“Like what?” Akira frowns, as Goro flattens a palm over his mouth to hide the smile that quickly creeps up on his face.

“L-Like you saw…” Another laugh. Loud, this time, and Akira quickly stops functioning.

“… I saw?”

“I don’t know… To put it into words, like you arrived home and saw your husband lying dead on the floor?”

 _What a morbid comparison!_ Akira thinks, shocked.

And yet, the image prompts another fresh burst of laughter from Goro’s lips, unruly and breathless and altogether so unbelievable that Akira forgets that he needs to blink. He’s still trying to register the fact that Goro said _husband_ instead of _wife_ when Goro keeps talking, face bright-red with mirth. “Y-Y-Your… eyes, too, looked like a cat’s when they taste… I’m so sorry, I can’t really speak straight right now, I can’t stop thinking about it—what am I even saying—”

He interrupts himself with another abrupt laugh. Akira doesn’t have a _single_ clue as to why Goro’s giggling so hard, but he can’t stop himself from joining in because the sounds Goro makes are just so damn _hilarious._ Goro is hiccuping, a gleeful smile splitting his face, and when he accidentally snorts, the two of them blow up into another series of raucous laughter, Akira having to steady himself on Goro’s shoulder.

It’s akin to seeing an angel descend from heaven. Because even like this, unwound and immature, Goro is still angelic, teeth ever white and hair unmussed.

And then Akira is smiling for an entirely different reason.

By the time they’re done snickering, both are bent over with an arm around their stomachs. Akira takes a deep breath, Goro following suit. “Look,” Akira starts, a little more than smug, “as much as I like hearing you laugh, please don’t make it about my face.”

Goro is still for a second. Akira wonders why, and then remembers what he’d said.

_—as much as I like hearing you laugh—_

“Ah…” Finally, Goro straightens to look Akira in the eye. There’s still a faint smile twitching at the corner of his lips when he says, “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Akira smiles back. And then—“Oh!” He clasps his hands together. “I almost forgot. Could you… come back to Leblanc with me for just a moment?”

After some consideration, they begin their commute to Yogen-Jaya, the horizon setting to a muted pink by the time they arrive at the café. Akira turns to Goro, who is regarding him with a curious expression. “Do you mind waiting here for me?” he inquires, hand stalling on the door. “It might take a while, but I need to go fetch something.”

Goro tilts his head inquisitively, but nods regardless. “Sure. As long as it takes.”

Akira’s heart stops.

“… O-Okay,” he stutters, and then darts into the café.

 _Holy shit,_ he thinks, barely acknowledging Sojiro’s grunted welcome, _holy shit, okay. That couldn’t have been on purpose. I mean, it was such a trivial memory! No way he remembers that…_

_… In fact, the only reason I remember it is…_

Akira arrives at the top step to his attic and looks around. Somewhere, he discarded his jacket along with the thing he’d asked Futaba to make him—something he’s sure Goro would appreciate. _If not him, then me,_ Akira muses, _just since he can humor me with this wish._  

With the determination of a man in love, he quickly finds what he’s looking for and pounds downstairs, drawing strange looks from Sojiro. When he pushes past the door, Goro is waiting there as promised; he perks up at the sight of Akira, stepping closer to him.

“Do you have something for me?” he asks keenly. Akira puffs out a breath.

“This…” He removes his hands from behind his back—cradled inside one of them is a glossy, slightly smaller Polaroid that is exactly identical to the one in Akira’s wallet. He proffers it to Goro. “I had to get someone to do it for me, but… I was wondering if you’d like this. I mean—” His composure swiftly begins to crumble. Anxiously, he fumbles with his glasses, removing them and wiping them on the hem of his shirt. “I-I just thought—since, you know, you’re in this picture, that you might want to have it—”

“Akira.”

Akira closes his eyes in anticipation. “Y-Yes… ?”

“I’d love to have it.” He gestures for the photo, a surprisingly soft look on his face. When Akira hands it to him, something passes over his eyes. Nostalgia, maybe, or adoration. “This is… honestly, the most thoughtful thing anyone has done for me. I’ll treasure this because of that.”

Akira nods rapidly, pressing his lips together in case anything else stupid tumbles out of them. After a pause, he retracts his hand. It moves up to rub the nape of his neck, playing with the curls there. “Th-Then, thanks for uh, having it.”

“I should be the one saying that.” Goro laughs, then tucks the Polaroid gingerly into his pocket. “I had a lot of fun today, Akira. Let’s do this again sometime.”

“Of course.” Akira is so full of happiness he feels fit to burst. “I’ll see you later, Goro. Text me when you get home.”

“I’ll do just that.”

And with that, Goro waves goodbye, a pleased smile on his face as he disappears into the Backstreets. Akira’s breath comes out of him heavy and awkward, the beating of his heart still overpowering any sense inside of him to _move._ Eventually, Akira turns away and shoves on his glasses. The traces of Goro’s cologne remain in the air as he walks back into Leblanc, blush and all, the world seeming a lot more simpler—yet, more complex all the same—at the moment he enters the attic and collapses onto bed with a sigh.

“He’ll treasure it… huh…” Akira whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goro has gallows humor bc he's a detective don't @ me
> 
> i would like to say thanks to my beautiful editors liam (@lithalos) and nico (@laprincenico) because i don't thank them enough and they DESERVE the appreciation so!!!!! please love them
> 
> also if anyone is interested my twitter has inktober drawings for this series!! so far days one, two, and nine are for distant fields, while the others are just shameless shuake sketches, ahaha.... feel free to check them out!


	6. curry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so late again im sorry school has been catching up to me
> 
> here is this mega late chapter hope u enjoy

Akira almost forgets that he’s friends with a celebrity.

Truthfully, the fact doesn’t hit him in full force until Goro shows up on the news again, until all of the accounts Akira is following update with information about Goro’s recent whereabouts and Ai and Katsue and Junji are back to screaming about him on their group chat. Akira casts a longing gaze at the pile of magazines on the floor of his room, and Goro’s handsome (but possibly photoshopped) face winks back up at him.

Shame rising in his gut, Akira stands to shuffle the magazines under his bed. Knowing that the same guy on the cover of his magazines also has his number saved on Akira’s phone is strange, to say the least, and ogling at them won’t help his growing crush on the detective.

… The posters can stay, though.

Akira collapses back onto his bed. He admits it; being alone with his thoughts is even more tortuous than he thought possible. His mind wanders more often than he’d like, and then he’s thinking the unthinkable—going on dates with Goro, holding his hand, maybe…  

 _But no,_ Akira thinks. _There’s no way he’d do something like that with me._ They may have been together once, but whatever chances Akira once had with the detective have now freshly been stamped down to zero. Goro said so himself—he has no time for dating. And more than that, the list of people interested in Goro Akechi has grown so long it probably runs the full length of Tokyo. Goro could have anyone. Anyone.

The thought makes his heart hurt.

He eventually migrates downstairs to eat dinner and watch the news; there, Goro prattles on about serial robbers and missing student cases and the like. In all honesty, Akira doesn’t catch a word he’s saying. He’s too busy zeroing in on the mole beneath his jaw, the crisp white dress shirt that hugs his chest just right. And the way Goro’s voice inflects with barely-contained disdain, taut with determination, makes heat flood Akira’s cheeks, unforgiving.

 _Goro would sound good saying just about anything,_ Akira thinks, spooning some curry into his mouth. _He could be talking about spelunking and I’d still swoon._

In fact (remembering back to when Goro talked about Shido, his tongue all knives and poison), Akira acknowledges just how _hot_ Goro can be without even trying. The detective persona he wears for the media is nothing short of ruthless, cunning, and winsome. The debate they had on live television, for example, ignited a flame within Akira that even now still burns.

And yet the childish, easygoing air he adopts around Akira is still irresistible, drawing him in like a bee to a flower. _There are so many sides to him,_ Akira notes with a silent smile. He licks his spoon clean and presses it thoughtfully against his lips.

_I wonder… just how many I can draw out of him at once?_

“I assure you, the police will wrap up this investigation within the end of the week,” Goro finishes saying to the interviewer, distractedly adjusting his collar. It’s such a simple gesture, but he makes it work so well. “For now, I advise all chain stores and independent businesses to be on their guard and double their security measures for reassurance. I say the same to all students who attend cram school late at night, and please, do _not_ be without a partner.”

 _Wow._ Akira smiles. _His authoritative voice is even more attractive than I thought._

“Thank you, Akechi-san,” the interviewer says. “We will heed your warnings well.”

The screen cuts to the news anchor and Akira, disinterested now, turns his attention back to his plate. He scrapes up his curry but doesn’t make any move to eat it, stirring it idly on his plate as if doing so will provide all the answers.

The bell chimes gently.

“Hello?”

Goro peeks his head through the door, and Akira nearly chokes on air. He chugs down some water and slams it against the counter, blinking rapidly to make sure he’s not hallucinating. Sure enough, it’s _Goro_ who stands at the entrance, smiling innocently as if he hadn’t been on TV just a few seconds ago. Akira tames his expression.

“H-Hey. Weren’t you… just being filmed?” he inquires, swallowing dryly.

Goro tilts his head, questioning—and _god,_ that’s adorable—before his face lights up in realization. “Oh. Were you watching the news?” he asks, and when Akira nods, Goro chuckles, covering half of his face with his hand. “Of course… My apologies for startling you. They had filmed that segment earlier, catching me just after I’d exited the headquarters. I suppose I should’ve warned you that I was going to visit Leblanc, hm?”

Akira’s smile stretches to his eyes. “Maybe.” Regardless, he’s positively ecstatic to see Goro again. They’d been out of contact for at least two days, so the company is more than welcome, and even just talking to Goro sends a wave of butterflies through his abdomen. “Why don’t you sit down, then? I’ll make you a coffee.”

Goro doesn’t wait to be told twice. He claims the seat beside Akira and taps his fingers against his forearm as the latter stands to round the counter.

“So you’re stuck with another case,” Akira starts conversationally, picking what beans he wants to brew (and what he thinks Goro likes) before returning to the counter.

“Ah, you mean the case on the news.” Goro shakes his head. Some strands of hair fall in front of his eyes, and Akira stares so long at it he forgets the task at hand. “I’m not in charge of that one. However, I trust that the investigation team who _is_ to take care of it properly.”

“What case are you working on, then?”

A smile. Sharp, and with an air of finality. “That’s confidential.”

Akira shivers involuntarily. He returns to his work with a kind of shakiness, trying to avoid Goro’s observant stare. It’s a quiet affair of shuffling and the soft, musical clinking of cups before Goro’s order is placed in front of him, and while Goro takes an experimental sip, Akira collects his plate of mostly-finished curry and dumps it into the sink.

“Where’s Boss?” Goro asks, as Akira leans against the counter.

“Went out to get a smoke, I think. We weren’t getting any customers.”

Goro quirks a brow, smile slanting just slightly. “Is this a common occurrence?”

“Well…” Akira grins as well. “Yes. But I don’t consider it too much of a bad thing.”

“I agree.” Goro sips his coffee, slow and indulgent, before he sets it down, punctuating the gesture with a content sigh. “I have to say, I do prefer this to a café that is filled with customers. Gives me more space to think and breathe. In fact—” He takes another delicate sip. “I feel like I should make this my new haunt. The atmosphere is quiet, the coffee is lovely—oh, and I get to see you, too.”

Akira nearly chokes.

“Would that be all right with you?” Goro continues unfazed, as if he hadn’t caught the motion at all. “I wouldn’t want to impose or anything.”

“Uh—” Quickly, Akira gathers his bearings. “I mean—of course. You don’t need to be so formal with me, after all. We’re friends, aren’t we, Goro?”

A slight shadow of guilt passes over Goro’s face at the mention, and his smile thereafter is apologetic. “… Right. I’m sorry. I’m just not used to this kind of thing…”  

“Well, get used to it, then.” Akira’s expression turns snarky with newfound enthusiasm. “If you don’t, I’ll make sure you do. I’d say with your job, it’d do you some good to loosen up.”

Goro’s hand stalls on the cup. “… Loosen up, huh?”

“Yep.” Akira nods soundly.

“Why don’t you teach me, then?”

“—What?”

“Teach me how to loosen up,” Goro says, determination etching his brow.

Akira sputters. Several different scenarios rush through his brain before he forces himself to relax, squaring his shoulders and draining the tension from his face. “Well… what do you suggest? I have a few ideas, but we’d need to go upstairs for them.” In sudden realization, heat crawls up his cheeks. “I mean, we’ll just be playing video games, or reading books or… something. That’s all. I don’t really have anything else in mind.”

_I totally wasn’t thinking of something weird, no sir._

“Ah,” Goro says, relief overtaking his features. “I suppose I could try. Are you sure it’s all right to abandon your post for this, though?”

“Relax. I’m pretty sure we’re not getting any customers today.”

Goro just laughs. He finishes his coffee with lightning speed, a feat that doesn’t go unnoticed by Akira. It’s all too unrefined—Goro doesn’t even flinch at the heat which is sure to have burnt his tongue—but Akira decides not to push it. When he’s done, he sets down his cup gingerly. “I haven’t played video games in a while, so I’m afraid I’m a little rusty at it.”

“Really?” Akira raises a brow, deserting the counter and beckoning Goro to follow him. “I thought I remembered you visiting the arcade, sometime.”

“How did you know that?” Goro follows him up the stairs, skeptical.

“Oh—” It’d be bad to bring up the pictures that were posted by Goro’s… _dedicated_ fangirls. “Rumors, I guess?”

“Ugh… Of course.” Goro huffs out a soft laugh. They reach the top step, Goro setting aside his shoes and Akira following suit. “The Detective Prince doing something _other_ than investigations. I imagine it would make quite the story.”

“You have _no_ idea.”

As Goro drags two chairs over to the TV set, Akira starts up the console, sifting through his collection of video games for something to play. When he chances upon Power Intuition, a sly smile creeps up on his face, and he waves the cartridge in Goro’s direction. “Hey, remember this?” he says, unable to hide the delight in his voice.

Goro’s eyes go wide with recognition. “Power Intuition? … That’s an old game, isn’t it?”

“Yuuuup.” Akira plugs it in, then plops down onto the chair next to Goro. “I remember I used to beat you all the time back when we were kids. You were so bad at it.”

“Excuse me? Mind you, I was inexperienced back then,” Goro retorts, pouting.

“So you’re saying that’s not the case now?”

“I’m saying that you’re going _down_.” Goro rolls up his sleeves with a smirk. Akira wants to laugh but cry at the same time because he never knew elbows could be so damn _attractive_.

“Okay. Bring it on, _detective_.”

They start up the game and get to work immediately. Akira chooses his favorite character from childhood, one that he’s stuck with throughout the ages because it compliments his playing style so well—and when he peeks at Goro’s screen, he notices that he’s doing the same thing.

“Aren’t you worried I’ll exploit your weaknesses?” Akira teases, to which Goro responds with a barely-suppressed frown.

“I think you’re underestimating me.”

At the first match, Akira takes Goro’s warning to heart. Them being old enough to actually work a decent combo, Akira finds it difficult to get close to Goro without risking half of his HP bar. It ends in a near-draw—Akira comes out on top, his palms sweaty with the effort of proving himself to Goro. He almost leaps out of his chair, whooping victoriously. Meanwhile, Goro looks more than a little affronted.

“You cheated with that last move,” he accuses petulantly.

Akira’s grin is so wide it almost aches. “There are no such thing as cheaters, only winners.”

“That doesn’t make any _sense_.”

Akira nearly falls to the floor in laughter, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. They begin another match with renewed spirits. This time, Goro gets the upper-hand, beating Akira within the two-minute mark. It’s Akira’s turn to scowl.

“Not fair! I wasn’t ready.”

“No, you were too busy soaking in your last victory to care,” Goro chides him, though he looks incredibly pleased with himself. “Fine. Last round.”

The third match plays out strikingly similar to the first one. Akira never thought Goro could be so… _vocal,_ let alone swear at all, but once again, the detective proves him wrong with the mouth of a sailor. Akira has no time to be shocked as he’s too preoccupied trying to win. Like excitable little children, their yelling grows stronger each second, each moment that they are bested by the other. Control switches between both characters until at last, Akira reigns victorious. Akira sticks his tongue out at Goro. He throws down his controller dramatically.

“See that? Total annihilation!”

“Not _total_ annihilation,” Goro grumbles, tossing his controller aside as well. Although the loss has him particularly sullen, he’s still glowing with excitement, all charged up with energy after the action of their fast-paced battles. “I don’t even remember ever yelling so much. I have to admit I’m a little embarrassed…”

“You almost gave me a heart attack with that first cuss word,” Akira jokes, “but seriously, don’t hold back with me, okay?” With tender playfulness, he nudges Goro’s ribs with his elbow. Woah. Too close? He waits anxiously for Goro’s reaction, but it’s only a startled smile and a shake of the head.

“Okay… I’ll be honest, though. That was the most fun I’ve had in a while. It’s a shame I don’t have the luxury to be playing video games all the time…”

Akira frowns. “You can stay and play for a little while longer.”

“No, I would like to, but…” Goro sighs. “I’ve overstayed my welcome. I must be going.”

“You’re sure, then?” Shaking his head in disappointment, Akira sets down his controller and stands to join Goro as he approaches the staircase. “Well, if you ever wanna play some more, you can drop by Leblanc whenever you like. Not _whenever_ , since summer vacation is ending soon, but—most of the time. I’ll always make time for you, Goro.”

Goro, a blush spilling over his cheeks, scratches his head in embarrassment. “Do you mean that, Akira?”

“… What do you mean?”

“I—I mean—” The red on his face brightens even more now. “I just want to know if you’re saying that truthfully. Are you… ?”  

Akira pauses, then nods slowly. Really, he just wants Goro to know that he has someone to rely on. He wants to bring him out of his shell again. “Of course,” he says, and that seems to drain all the tension from Goro’s shoulders.

Smiling a little, he mumbles out an, “Okay. Then, I’ll see you later,” before waving him goodbye, treading slowly down the stairs. Akira stares hard at the back, heart pounding out of his ribcage. Well that was. New. Clearly, he has a long way to go before Goro can fully trust him again—Goro, who is skittish like a deer, drawing away from simple acts of kindness. What made Goro that way?

 _Who_ made Goro that way?

Akira lets out a sigh, moving to lay down on his bed. If one thing’s for sure, he needs to sleep on this. Staying up too late only heralds more late night thoughts about Goro—not unwanted, but unnecessary nonetheless.

 _Ah—the stars._ He glances up at his ceiling and remembers it suddenly. _Maybe I should go buy those glow-in-the-dark stars soon._

With that in mind, he drifts off near-instantaneously, luminescent dots decorating his vision. They are shaped conspicuously like the stars hanging in his childhood bedroom, forming constellations that Goro is busy naming—“ _Starfish, Flower, Red Hawk—oh, and you, Akira!”_

A smile graces Akira’s lips. Then, he falls into a deep, dreamless slumber.

 

* * *

 

“Has anyone ever told you that your curry is delicious?”

“Ah…” Sojiro rubs the back of his neck, uncharacteristically bashful. “Thank you.”

He walks away, leaving Akira and Ai alone. The other two, Katsue and Junji, could not be present that day, but they enjoined Ai to fill them in on the details some other time.

Ai leans forward, the twinkle in her eye definitely _not_ from the light fixtures above. “So,” she murmurs, “tell me. You’ve been seeing Akechi-kun all this time?”

“That’s not entirely true…” Akira stirs his coffee. “We’ve just started hanging out recently. Before, though, as kids, we used to be together all the time. Of course we did—we were best friends. At one point, we even became more than that. But one day Goro just disappeared. He didn’t even tell me where he went or that he was gonna leave.”

“And you just found out about him being famous this year?” Ai continues eagerly.

Akira nods. “Yeah. It was a huge shock.”

Ai lets out a sigh, falling back onto the booth. She taps her spoon against her plate several times before dipping forward to take a bite. “Mm… Sounds like a shoujo manga.”

Akira laughs breathlessly, starting on his own curry. It’s nice to have one-on-ones like these when he’s not being bombarded left and right with questions. “I’m surprised at how well you’re taking this, to be honest,” he says. “I thought you’d still be freaking out like last time.”

“Oh, well…” Ai giggles sheepishly. “I’m still, like, surprised and all, but I respect you two as people. I don’t wanna stress you guys with all of my freak-outs.”

He bows mock-respectfully at her. “How unexpectedly kind of you, Ai.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” She fakes flinging some curry at him. He dodges nothing, a laugh still present in his face, returning the action right back at her before she surrenders her play-fighting.

“Okay, okay. Will you still introduce me, though?” Ai huffs. Akira scrunches up his nose at the thought.

“We’re not even dating, so me doing anything like that will just seem incredibly suspicious. Goro’s aware that you’re a fan, remember?”

“That’s if he remembers my face!” Ai sings, grinning impishly.

They talk idly about random things, rambling until they’ve demolished most of their dinner and have run out of things to talk about. At Ai’s behest, the two of them relocate upstairs where they can better discuss private things. Private things being—

“Aww!”

“I know.”

“Is that Akechi-kun?” she gushes, jabbing her finger at the little kid to the right. Akira nods, taking the Polaroid back from her lest she wrinkles it too hard.

“That’s him and my mom. And also me, whom I’m surprised you ignored in favor of swooning over little Goro. Talk about fake friends.”

“Hey!” She reaches for the nearest pillow but Akira flops himself over it before it can be used against him. At that same moment, Akira’s phone goes off with several messages, startling the two of them. Curiously, he glances at Ai. She just shrugs and moves to toss his phone at him.

“What is it?” she asks, as he unlocks his phone.

**Goro: Good evening, Akira.**

**Goro: Are you free tomorrow afternoon?**

**Goro: We should have a picnic. I know just the place.**

A smile melts over Akira’s face, warm and affectionate. He feels Ai crawl up beside him, peeking over his shoulder. He also can hear her soft, excited gasp. Self-conscious now, Akira types back an innocuous response, hoping Ai isn’t secretly judging him for it.

**Akira: Let’s do it. You know Tokyo better than I do anyway.**

**Goro: Haha, I’m pretty sure you’ve heard of this place before, but I’ll accept the compliment regardless.**

“Why don’t you bring some home-cooked food?” Ai suggests all of a sudden, beaming. “Oh, it’ll be so romantic! Akechi-kun will fall for you right then and there.”

“That’d be nice. Though I’d have to learn how to actually cook first.”

Ai blinks at him, slowly. She pulls her face into a scowl. “… Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Akira throws himself back on the mattress, slinging an arm over his eyes. “I wasn’t kidding when I said he was out of my league.”

“Akira…” Sympathetically, Ai pats him on the knee. When he just groans in response, she falls back onto the bed with him. “Oh, c’mon. It’s the thought that counts. And cooking is just following directions! You’re good at doing that, right? I mean, you can already brew coffee.”

Akira surrenders with a long, hard sigh. “… Goro did say he liked my coffee.”

Triumphantly, Ai grins, snapping her fingers. “Exactly! So go put on your big boy pants and let’s get to work. Oh—” She takes out her phone and checks the time. “Sorry, but not me, though. I kind of have to go soon.”

“That’s all right,” Akira mumbles distractedly, turning his head to the side and thinking to himself.

He already has an idea of what he wants to do. Sojiro’s curry—it’s tasty, filling… also, Sojiro lives right there. It’ll be the perfect picnic dish. He just needs to find a way to convince Sojiro to teach him how it’s done. _Say it’s for Leblanc,_ he thinks, sitting up sharply. _I’ll be forced to cook curry for him every now and then but it’ll be worth it. Goro is worth it._

“How does curry sound?” he asks, quickly whipping out his phone.

Ai sits up too. “If it’s Boss’s, I’m sold.”

His lips slant into a smile. He pulls up Goro’s chat.

**Akira: I’ll bring the food, if you want.**

A nigh-immediate response.

**Goro: Sure. I can handle the snacks and drinks.**

The thought of picnicking with Goro causes a surge of anticipation to bubble through Akira, and he leaps out of bed, helping Ai to her feet as well. “I’ll tell you what happens later,” he says, pushing her to the staircase, “but for now, get out of here. I’m gonna psyche myself up.”

“Geez, okay!” She pulls away from him. “Don’t stare too long at Akechi-kun’s magazines, though, or your neck will start to hurt.”

“Shut up, I wasn’t going to do that!”

He was.

By the time Ai leaves and Akira finishes steeling himself, he comes downstairs to see Futaba crying for food. He raises a brow at Sojiro, who simply says, “I ran out of ingredients.” Akira waits for an explanation, and Sojiro, sighing finally, gives it to him. “I used it all on the curry, okay? Which is also gone, by the way.”

“… How…” Leblanc wasn’t even crowded?

“The customers who came _really_ liked it,” Sojiro answers, rubbing the back of his neck. “So they asked if they could take it home, and I thought, why not? No one’s going to eat the curry for dinner anyway.”

“Not even Futaba?” Akira asks, gaze flicking in her direction.

She just shakes her head. “He never makes it right anymore.”

“The customers I have say otherwise.”

“ _Mom_ wouldn’t say ‘otherwise’!” she retorts playfully.

Raising a brow, Akira looks between the two for some kind of context, but when none is given, he drops the subject. Anyhow, it’s the perfect opportunity to ask Sojiro how to cook, so he does it in the most forward way he knows is possible: “Please teach me your curry ways.” He bows for that extra touch of drama.

Futaba and Sojiro blink at him in unison. Eventually, Futaba bursts into laughter, leaving Sojiro with an understandably confused look on his face.

“Why so suddenly?”

 _Say it’s for Leblanc,_ Akira thinks, _say it’s for Leblanc._ “Uh… it’s for Goro.”

Nice. Real clever.

Surprisingly, it’s the right response. Sojiro’s lips crook up in a smirk as he registers the meaning behind Akira’s statement. “Ah, so it is. You young people and your crushes… I was once in your position, you know.”

“Quit it, Sojiro!” Futaba hisses, blushing for some reason. This doesn’t go pass Akira’s radar, and neither does it Futaba’s, apparently, for she starts to explain, “He was in love with my mom.”

“You don’t have to go saying it out loud.” Sojiro grimaces. “But yeah, I can teach you, kid. Who knows, maybe you’ll make it the way Futaba likes.”

“I severely doubt that, but okay.” Futaba snickers quietly to herself.

They make a quick trip to the market and grab all the necessary ingredients. When that’s done, Sojiro ushers Akira to the counter and begins rattling off instructions to him. Futaba pitches in every now and then, snapping when Akira puts too much of one thing and too little of another, and after a grueling several minutes Akira’s first batch of curry is up for tasting. Futaba sticks a spoon into the pot, shoving it in her mouth and coughing the moment it hits her tongue.

“U—Urgh! Too much spice. Try again.”

“But I did it exactly how I was told,” Akira whines, and Sojiro gives him an amused look.

“It takes more than that for a dish to be at its best. Put your heart into it or something.”

 _Ugh._ Akira rolls his eyes and attempts to fix his mistake by adding more this and that, complying when Sojiro or Futaba advise him to _stir it longer, turn down the heat, stop playing with the damn spoon, Akira, jeez._ He comes out with a new variation which Futaba lunges for—and immediately sticks her tongue at in response.

“Eww, it’s too sweet. Keep going!”

Akira groans and throws himself into his task with a stronger resolve, cooking like a madman, throwing little pinches of spice in as directed (and as according to feeling). Futaba harangues him at every given moment, barking out lightning-fast critiques during each taste-test.

“Spicier!”

“Less bitter!”

“Needs to be sweeter!”

By Akira’s fourth blunder, the curry pot is filled enough to feed an entire café. He wipes the sweat from his brow, setting down his ladle. _God, I never thought anything other than sports could make me this exhausted._ He looks hopefully at Sojiro, presenting the ladle to him. “Please tell me this is doable. I worked hard on it,” he says, leaving out the part where he chanted Goro’s name five times in his head for good luck.

Reluctantly, Sojiro allows himself a taste of what Akira has made. After a beat, his eyes widen considerably. He looks at the curry pot in amazement. “This is… actually _good_ , kid.”

Futaba straightens in her seat. She’d been napping there, apparently, judging by how her hair sticks up wildly in different directions. “ _Really?_ ”

“Yeah,” Sojiro confirms, returning the ladle to Akira. “It almost tastes like mine, but something’s different… maybe it’s the spice?” He shakes his head. “Regardless, put it on a plate. Maybe this will be the one you’ll grow to like, Futaba.”

“God, I hope so!”

Akira nervously pours some curry over a fresh scoop of rice, trying to keep a steady grip on the dish as he sets it in front of Futaba. She stares dubiously at it for a few seconds, then picks up her spoon and digs away at the curry. Several seconds of agonizing silence tick by. Akira and Sojiro watch as Futaba smacks her lips together, absorbing the taste.

Suddenly, her spoon clatters against her plate.

“… Wow.”

Akira’s eyes light up. “Well? How is it?” he asks rapidly, heart pounding in his chest.

She stares blankly at her plate for a moment. Then, she looks up, her eyes gleaming.

“It almost tastes… the same as hers.”

Sojiro’s jaw drops open.

 

* * *

 

So, new finding—Akira is a natural at almost everything.

“How is his curry any different than mine?” Sojiro had asked then, his brows furrowed, to which Futaba just shrugged and put her palms flat on the counter.

“Who knows? Maybe because he’s making it for someone he loves…”

It was a farfetched claim. But feasible, if only a little bit. From that day on, Sojiro had sworn to cook his curry with Wakaba (whoever that is) and Futaba in mind. “I must have lost sight of the important things in life,” Sojiro told him, when Futaba had left. “I only cooked my curry thinking about the customers. I never thought…”

He trailed off at that, but Akira didn’t need to hear the rest. He already understood it.

Now, in the lazy bustle of this Tokyo afternoon, Akira follows Goro’s directions to Inokashira Park. He tries not to focus too hard on the way Goro’s voice flows seamless and smooth through the speaker, a distraction in itself that has him nearly bumping into trash cans. Thankfully, it doesn’t last long; he hangs up once he sees Goro’s shape lingering by the lake, the gentle curve of his back as he leans over the railing, gazing at the still waters.

“Goro!” He lifts his hand in a wave. Goro starts, turning to face Akira with surprise faintly coloring his eyes. Once he recognizes who it is, though, his eyes crinkle at the edges in a smile. He picks up the plastic bag lying at his feet and jogs towards Akira.

“Hello!” he greets, emanating warmth, and Akira could melt right then and there. He looks much too cute in his collared shirt and jeans, a far cry from his typical detective pea coat and slacks. With a grin, Akira hoists up the bag in his other hand and jiggles it around.

“I brought the fooood.”

“So I see.” Goro gestures for Akira to follow him. He leads them to a quiet, isolated section of the park where a large expanse of grass awaits them. Only a few people linger about the area—some take respite underneath the shade of the trees, fanning themselves with their hands. A group of children off to the side play hide-n-seek in the bushes, squealing and laughing, just this side of being loud but not quite enough to scare the birds.

It’s the perfect kind of tranquility. While Goro hunts for a perfect picnic space, Akira decides to break the silence with an awkward cough. “Soo… Inokashira Park, huh?”

Goro spares a glance over his shoulder, a sheepish expression on his face. “Yes… I figured it wouldn’t be too hustle-bustle for us to relax in. Besides, it reminds me of the pond. _Our_ pond, I mean.”

Akira’s lips curl into a smirk. “Our pond, huh?” He has no illusions of what he means.

“Yes… don’t you think so?”

Akira looks around, and he knows. The sunlight dappling the grass. The scent of nature sprinkling the air around them. The calm ripples of the lake.

It’s almost home. Almost.

“That tree kind of looks like the one we used to climb for our games,” he points out, indicating a tall tree with wiry branches. Not the ideal kind of tree for stakeouts, but Goro was just light enough that the branches never broke when they played their hero-and-villain games.

“You’re right…” Goro pauses to look it over. There is a wistfulness to him, unseen in his face but evident in his voice. “The lake, as well… Looking into it is just like looking into the pond. The lotus flowers, the water crickets, the moss…” Reverently, he turns his nose up into the air, inhaling deeply. “I… really miss that place. You know—every time I come here, I can almost pretend I’m there. But the cars, the smoke, the chatter… it shatters the image.”  

He continues walking, not waiting for Akira’s response, and the latter has to clumsily catch up to him. “I agree,” Akira pants, the bag pulling his arm down suddenly feeling ten times heavier, “but it’s the best we can get at this place, and honestly, I’ll take what I can get.”

“I suppose you make a point,” Goro says, very quietly.

Soon, they find a relatively secluded spot underneath the shelter of a large tree. Goro rummages through his plastic bag to fish out a picnic blanket and two thermoses, holding one out to Akira. “I hope you like iced tea, because that’s all I could find. It’s peach-flavored,” he says and lays out the blanket. It has a cat pattern, and Akira finds that endearing.

“Ooh, peachy.” Akira accepts the thermos, a cheeky grin on his face. “Meanwhile…” He sets his bag down. “I brought something _incredible_. I hope you’re ready to get your socks knocked off, because I have something special planned for today.”

“I’m not sure I want to lose my socks, but humor me,” Goro concedes.

Flashing him a teasing smirk, Akira plops down beside Goro on the blanket and begins removing the contents of his bag. It’s really just two containers of curry, freshly hot; a box of cheesecake that he grabbed on his way here, strawberry, just the way Goro likes it; and finally, a bunch of napkins and utensils for the curry. Akira lays them out for Goro to see, watching for his reaction.

A light gasp escapes Goro’s mouth. “What is all of this?” he asks, as he picks up his container of curry.

“You’ll like it. I did my best to make it enjoyable for you.” Akira says it with a dash of pride, but really, he’s boiling with nerves at this point.

Goro’s jaw slackens. “… You made this for me?”

“Um—” Akira coughs. “Yeah?”

Seemingly dazed now, Goro removes the tin lid and peers inside. He opens his mouth to say something, but when nothing comes out, Akira presses a spoon to his hand and says, “Try it.”

Goro’s fingers entangle briefly with his as he pries the spoon out of Akira’s hand, and Akira almost stutters, but holds his tongue. He opts to watch eagerly for Goro’s response. The detective scoops a portion of the rice and curry out of the container, sniffing it curiously. Akira starts to pick at his own meal while waiting.

“So… ?” he begins, mouth half-full. “Tastes good, right? It took me an hour or two to actually get it right, my taste-testers were such harsh critics. Then again—” He takes another bite and hums meaningfully. “It’s thanks to that I’ve pretty much memorized the recipe to curry. Anyways, yeah, did my work pay off?”

Goro says nothing. He is chewing carefully, almost robotically—like his mind is somewhere else. Akira feels his heartbeat pick up. Is that a good reaction or no?

“Goro?” he repeats, dread lining his tone.

“… Mm?”

Goro looks up from his food, tears falling from his eyes.

“ _Goro?!_ ” Akira nearly drops his curry, but he catches it in time and sets it aside hastily. Goro’s eyes are watery, spilling with tears, and despite his otherwise blank expression, he’s clearly trying to stifle them. “Holy shit, are you crying?” he stammers. “I thought it was too spicy, but Futaba said it was mild enough for—”

“N-No… that’s not it…” Goro sniffles, choking back a sob. He puts down his own container to rake his sleeves over his face. “I-I just—I’m so sorry, I just… I felt like…” Another loud sniffle, and then he’s full-on crying, shoulders shaking and hands trembling. “I haven’t shared a home-cooked meal with anyone in a long time, a-and this reminded me of back then—”

“Back then?”

“—Back when your mom would cook for us d-during sleepovers, or wh-when I was hiding from my foster parents, or t-to bring lunch for… for…”  

Akira’s heart shatters. He pitches forward to put a hand on Goro’s shoulder. “Goro…”

“P-Please don’t worry.” Goro laughs feebly, shaking his head. “I’m just being silly, I…”

“No, you’re not!” Akira’s hands flutter about, wondering where to put them, but he eventually settles for Goro’s arms. “You’re not being silly. Believe me, after all you’ve been through… God, Goro… I can’t even begin to _imagine_ what you’ve endured.”

“It…” Shuddering, Goro pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his face into his arms. “It was so _lonely_ ,” he blubbers, hiccuping, and he leans into Akira’s touch absentmindedly. When he picks his face back up, his teeth are clenched, brows drawn tight. “I was so lonely.”

Akira doesn’t know what to say to that. He just grips Goro tighter.

“Can I hug you?” he whispers, squeezing him a little. “I’m sorry if that seems weird…”

“No, g-go ahead.” With a sharp intake of breath, Goro lowers his legs and moves forward, resting his head on Akira’s shoulder. Akira’s heart leaps to his throat, and he winds his arms around Goro’s back anxiously, awkwardly, patting his back with lack of a better thing to do.

“… Um… It’s all right now, isn’t it?” Akira says after a moment, voice thready with nervousness. He feels Goro nod against him, wetting his shirt with tears.

“I’m… all right now. I’m not lonely anymore. You’re here. That really helps.”

Akira _swears_ he’s going to fucking die.

Praying that his heart isn’t pounding too fast, he presses closer into Goro, breathing in his lovely vanilla scent. Vanilla. He never liked it on food, but… the scent, he decides, is amazing.

“The curry isn’t bad, at least?”

Surprisingly, Goro chuckles. He shakes his head, his hairs tickling Akira’s chin.

“Don’t worry… It’s delicious.”

“Good. I was worried it tasted so bad you started crying.”

With a snort, Goro shakes in Akira’s arms, not from tears but this time from mirth. Akira laughs along with him, and soon enough, Goro’s beautiful laughter is blessing his ears, ringing like the wind chimes in his attic. He pulls away from Akira’s embrace. His eyes are still puffy, but there’s a smile touching his lips, his eyes. Akira smiles back, and this feels so, so _right._

“We’re ready to keep eating now, yeah?” Akira murmurs. Goro nods.

“Mhm.”

As if aware now of their current proximity, the two not-so-subtly jump apart, returning their attention to their food. However, it does not the diminish the lightness in the air, as if all the weights of the world had been sucked out of the atmosphere.

“That reminds me…” Goro takes a bite of his curry, licking the residue off of his lips. “When we were kids… we used to share our food like this, didn’t we?”

“Oh… right.” Akira grins. “Just like the day we first spoke to each other.”

“I’m glad for that,” Goro admits, a tiny blush coloring his cheeks. “I think food tastes a lot better when you’re with others. Besides, it's the reason we became friends. I live alone in an apartment, and… it’s always so bleak, there.”

“Your own apartment, huh?” Akira waits until he’s finished chewing to start speaking again. “You have privacy, at least. I wonder what kind of decorations you have in your room?”

“Oh, it’s nothing interesting, I assure you…”

“C’mon, no Featherman pillows or anything?”

“A-Akira!”

Akira holds in a snicker at the thought. Like that, they pass the next two hours with careless ease, laughing and sharing in their numerous stories. It goes much too quickly. The sun burns brightly and ruthlessly on their skin by the time they finish up with their picnic, their bodies hot and sluggish as they roll up the blanket and stash their belongings.

“I’ll walk you to Leblanc,” Goro offers. “It’s the least I could do.”

“No, stay. You’re going back to work, aren’t you?”

“… Yes…”

“Then don’t wait up on me.” Akira salutes him, allowing the last of his Goro-only smiles to creep on his face. “Have fun at your job, whatever you’re doing.”

“Thank you. Then, same to you and your endeavors,” Goro says, bowing respectfully (as if they hadn’t hugged just moments ago). He takes out his phone, checking his notifications, then presents it to Akira with a little wave. “I’ll text you when I’m free.”

“Looking forward to it.”

They part ways in a good humor, Akira’s gait extra bouncy on the way to the train station. He doesn’t realize he’s humming a nonsensical tune until he walks into Leblanc and Sojiro gives him the oddest look (which must be _spectacularly_ odd considering all the things Akira has done before to warrant such a reaction.)

“Well.” Sojiro chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. “Someone’s in a good mood.”

“Sorry,” Akira says automatically, and without waiting he bounds up the stairs, darting straight for his bed. He launches himself onto the mattress; it bounces beneath his weight, causing him to fly an inch in the air before gravity pulls him back down.

The window beneath his bed is open. The wind chime tinkles in the breeze.

Home.

 

* * *

 

Night looms over the city. There are shouts rising into the cool, thin air, flashing lights painting the buildings blue and red. He takes a deep breath and calms the trembling of his fists. From afar, he can hear Sae barreling through police and caution tape.

“Where is he?!”

“E-Excuse me? Who do you mean—”

“Goro Akechi! I need to see him _immediately_!”

“I’m right here, Sae-san.”

“Akechi-kun—?” Sae groans, carding her fingers roughly through her hair. Taking a deep breath, Goro emerges from the alleyway, already filled to the brim with police. The sight just makes Sae’s face pinch even more. “You reckless… I was worried, you know! Back at the police department, I heard you’d went in without your weapon, and I couldn’t  _believe_ that you’d be so crass as to have confronted the target—”

“Don’t worry. The deed is done.” Goro dusts off his gloves on his coat. When Sae’s expression doesn’t change, Goro sighs and elaborates, “He went up without any resistance. I assure you, there was no risk in the first place.”

Sae massages her temples, as if already nursing a headache. She turns to one of the policemen and starts barking questions, a habit that Goro, by now, has learned to drown out. Instead, he turns to the heart of the crime scene where his prey— _filthy, irredeemable, pitiful, treacherous_ —stands complacently at the hands of Goro’s associates. Behind them, the man’s wife and child watch the scene unfold.

The wife is stone-faced and resigned. Perhaps she had expected this outcome. The child, however, throws a fit underneath her mother’s firm embrace, kicking her legs against her mother’s stomach when she fails to put her down.

“What are they doing to Papa? Let me go! _Papa!_ ”

Her mother starts whispering quiet nothings in her ear, and Goro can’t stop his lips from twisting into a scowl. _Do not cry for your father anymore,_ Goro thinks, bitterness clouding his vision. _He was a thief. It’d do you well to learn how to live without a father._

“Akechi-kun,” Sae calls sternly, snapping him out of his trance. “You need to come with me. Don’t even think about leaving my sight.”

He doesn’t ask her what for, because this is the drill—their _protocol._ He merely nods and treads after Sae, the cries of the child echoing in his ear as if screamed through a tunnel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when i said this wouldnt be angsty?? haha good times.... if akira is acting any weird to you, then you're catching onto something ;) 
> 
> there're more inktobers for this series on my twitter!! check it out if you like gay shit


	7. his jacket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another really late af update!! im so sorry but to compensate i made it ~9k words LMAO
> 
> to make myself clear, i will most likely NOT be staying on my update schedule because of a lot of different factors. but worry not, i am most definitely not giving up on this series!!

As autumn draws nearer, college gets duller. Akira spins his pen between his fingers as the professor drones on about Leon Festinger, stifling a yawn. It’s getting harder and harder to convince himself that he actually enjoys learning; it feels awfully routine, an illusion presenting itself in the form of letters and phrases that trick him into thinking he’s doing something worthwhile. He swallows another yawn and stares at the meaningless scrawl decorating the pages of his notebook. Yeah. Definitely worthwhile.

Even psychology, arguably the most interesting class out of his horribly dull schedule, has him nearly snoring. Perhaps the fact that it’s right before lunch influences his fatigue—or the presence of his Goro-friends who keep bothering (read: distracting) him—or some other third thing. Akira doesn’t know. He’s losing focus.

“… meaning because our actions correspond to our beliefs, we feel a great dissonance when our actions _contradict_ our beliefs,” says the professor, enunciating every last word. When he next speaks, his voice is louder: “Cognitive dissonance is also tied in closely with the idea of conformity, as people who wish to conform, or experience ‘normative’ social influence…”

“Kurusu-san.”

Is Akira hearing things? He tilts his head towards the desk, closing his eyes as a strange feeling of calm washes over him. Sleep. That’s what he needs. Sleep…

“Kurusu-san!”

A surprisingly sharp elbow nudges his arm. Flinching, Akira directs his gaze to the culprit, Shiho, who is gesturing aggressively at his notebook. Confusedly, he tilts his head at her. Shiho continues to make stabbing motions at his paper until he catches the eye of the professor and sees him staring straight into Akira’s soul.

Akira fumbles to start writing.

“Hence,” the professor continues slowly, eyes narrowing into slits, “we alter undesirable behavior to be in accordance with our attitude and thus create harmony within our conscience. It’s a useful tool for self-improvement, as it is proven that changing our behavior results in…”

“Sorry,” Akira mouths at Shiho, who just shakes her head in mock-exasperation. When he returns to his notebook, dreadfully bare, a feeling of disillusionment pools at the pit of his stomach. He heaves a sigh and begins scribbling on the paper.

Class ends without much ado.

Akira packs up his things and rushes to the train station, not caring that his hair gets mussed in the process and many strange looks are thrown in his direction. There’s a certain Detective Prince waiting for him at Big Bang Burger, and it’s a date that he does _not_ want to miss.

Meeting Goro for lunch has pretty much become implemented in Akira’s weekly schedule. As luck would have it, the detective is free almost every afternoon and they’ve been working out meeting places for them to hang out in. Today just so happens to be Big Bang Burger day, a crude but otherwise acceptable establishment. If that place wasn’t so good at manufacturing burgers, Akira would’ve put it out of his head entirely.

He arrives at the Big Bang Burger in Akihabara out of breath and slightly sweaty. He sees Goro sitting at the corner, conspicuously disguised in sunglasses and a ponytail. It isn’t unstylish by any means, but it _is_ a peculiar look on Goro, one that Akira doesn’t think he minds. If anything, it’s extremely endearing.

“Hey there, stranger.” Akira grins and slides into the seat across from him. Goro looks up at him with a startled smile and reaches over to jab Akira’s shoulder, almost knocking over one of the shakes. At that point Akira realizes their food is already laid out on the table; somehow Goro knew what Akira wanted to order and the thought makes his chest grow warm and fuzzy.

“Don’t be like that,” Goro says, unwrapping his burger. “I wanted to keep a low profile. You understand, don’t you? Chiyoda is the one place I’d be known the most.”

“Then you should at least ditch the formal attire,” Akira chides. Impulsively, he reaches around himself to pull off his jacket, tossing it in Goro’s direction. “How about wearing this? At least you can hide your hair with it, I mean, I can see that shit from a mile away.”

Goro catches the jacket with a yelp. When it lands, it falls around his head, and a pinkish blush reveals itself on his face as he pulls it down. “Are… you sure, Akira?”

Akira blinks. The familiar gesture was so second nature that he hardly registered the implications behind it. Face flushed, he nods quickly and hides his face behind his burger.

“Um. Yeah. I don’t really need it right now anyway.”

That’s practically a lie, since the weather has been getting cold enough that Akira’s bringing coffee instead of water to school, but Goro doesn’t need to know that. As observant as the detective is, he doesn’t push it whenever Akira drops one of his white lies. He puts on the jacket without protest and throws the hood over his head.

“I hope that with this I don’t look any more suspicious than I already do without it,” he quips, taking a sip of his vanilla shake.

“Are you saying I dress like a criminal?”

Goro snorts and presses a palm to his face to suppress his laughter, but given by the way his shoulders tremble despite his efforts, Akira suspects that Goro is making fun of him after all.

At that, Akira pouts. “I knew it. You think I’m a troublemaker.”

“No! I-I’m not saying… _anything_ ,” Goro asserts, ungracefully. “No, nothing at all.”

“You’re saying something right now! I’d say that’s awfully shady, Goro.”

Finally, Goro breaks into a fit of giggles, more from the outrageousness of the conversation than the actual claim itself. “Criminals don’t _dress_ a certain way, Akira,” he says after a pause. “They can be anyone. They can be you or me.”

From that, his face falls a little. He stares down contemplatively at his burger before looking up with a feeble smile. “Anyways… if it’s any consolation, I don’t think you dress sloppily. You might want to fix your hair every now and then, though.”

“ _Hey._ ” Akira flips the fringe out of his face, emphasizing its majesty. “I have _beautiful_ hair. The fact that it’s messy just adds to its charm.”

“‘Charm’, huh.” Rolling his eyes, Goro picks up a fry and dips it into his shake and murmurs, “Whatever you say, Akira.”

Akira doesn’t hear that last part. His hands (and burger) are stuck in midair as Goro begins to indulge in a fry dipping session. Half in incredulity and half in amazement, Akira watches Goro drape a fry with a scoop of vanilla, then another and another and another. “I can’t believe you still do that,” he says, once Goro’s not preoccupied with being unpredictable.

Goro’s brows bunch together. “What?”

“The fries in the shake thing.”

“Ah.” Goro shakes his head, lips curving upward in a smile. “Old habits.”

“Does that mean you still bring your stuffed toy to bed?”

“I,” Goro starts, and then clears his throat, “won’t answer that to someone who didn’t stop sleeping with his parents until he was twelve.”

Akira gasps dramatically. “Hey! I felt safe in there,” he argues, slamming his hand down on the table because he’s that extra, “and anyways, you’d always join us eventually, so that isn’t really saying anything for you, is it?”

Goro chuckles, leaning back into his seat. His face is wreathed with something akin to nostalgia; he wears a fond smile, eyes tender and shoulders relaxed. All of a sudden, he jumps forward. He lowers his voice as he says: “Which reminds me—there’s something you need to know.” Assuming a posture demanding absolute secrecy, Goro lowers his sunglasses and meets Akira’s eye, whispering, “I have a cat.”

Akira pauses. “… A… cat?”

“Yes. His name is Morgana.”

“You mean…” Akira’s face heats up. “Like that plush cat you gave me in sixth grade?”

Goro blushes as well. “Yes.”

Akira’s already having flashbacks to the moment where Goro won him Morgana at Destinyland, the very same day where they shared a kiss at the top of the ferris wheel. The name, Morgana, was a suggestion by Goro himself—Akira just went with it because it seemed cool. He never knew Goro would remember such an inane detail.

“Which is why the talk of toys reminded me,” Goro continues, folding his hands atop the table, “that I’ll be leaving Morgana for two weeks.”

“ _Two_ weeks?” Akira’s jaw drops. “What the hell are you doing for so long?”

He doesn’t mean to come across as demanding, but he’s truly shocked, as Goro rarely talks about his own work for Akira to know what he does on the daily. Goro doesn’t seem fazed, at least; he keeps his gaze locked onto Akira’s, even as he reaches to take a fry into his mouth. “A case, of course. It requires me to relocate to Saitama for the time being.”

“What’s the case?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that much.”

Akira has to keep himself from scoffing. “Of course.” Still, he can’t maintain his annoyance for long, knowing full well Goro has his reasons to keep things from him. But it couldn’t kill Goro to confide in him a little bit. Akira considers himself to be at least trustworthy if not knowledgeable.

“I’m sorry I can’t say more about it," Goro apologizes. "And I hate to ask this of you, but…”

He trails off, thinning his lips. Hesitation is clear on his face; does he not like asking for things? Some ugly part of Akira rises at the thought. Finally, Goro speaks: “I was wondering if could you watch over Morgana for me. He isn’t high maintenance—he requires just the bare minimum, but it would be a huge reassurance to know he’s with somebody I know.”

Akira doesn’t even listen to the latter half of that sentence, because he’s already saying, “Yes.” He takes a moment to think of what to say next. “I like cats,” he adds, intelligently.

Thankfully, it draws out a small chuckle from Goro. “I know that,” he responds, smile growing. “Thank you for this, Akira. I know he is in good hands.”

The compliment dispels Akira's discomfort and makes his chest swell with pride, and he shakes his head quickly in hopes of calming the blush on his face. “Hey, it’s no problem. You know I’d say yes to anything you asked of me.”

 _Woah! Too much! Too much!_ His face is even redder now. Goro’s is as well.

“O-Oh—uh, that’s kind of you. Truly.”

Laughing nervously, Akira takes a sip of his shake to distract himself and immediately recoils. Of course. How appropriate. “Do you hate me, Goro?”  

“What?” Goro laughs, failing to hold in his amusement.

“It’s vanilla. _We talked about this._ ”

Goro giggles even louder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says faux-innocently, tilting his face away. Before Akira can protest, Goro’s gaze lifts and pins him down with the severity of it, Akira himself freezing in place. “By the way—” He straightens his back. “It’s likely that I won’t be able to check in on you during my business trip. So before I give Morgana to you, it would be best for you to meet him first. It’s imperative that you both know what you’re getting into.”

 _He says that like I’m troublesome,_ Akira thinks amusedly, remembering how just a minute ago Goro had praised his skills. “I’m fine with that. When should we do that?”

“Now.”

“E-Er—now?”

“Yes.” Goro reaches down to pick up his attaché case. “When you’re finished eating, we should go. I need to fill Morgana’s food bowl anyway.”

Akira takes a second to soak this in. “Uh, right. Where are we going exactly?”

“My apartment.”

Akira stuffs the remainder of his burger down his throat without further prompting.

Half in awe and half in some other emotion—disgust?—Goro regards him. But he doesn’t press him about it, just follows slowly when Akira starts to make his way out the door.

 

* * *

 

His heart’s in his throat as they approach the entrance to Goro’s apartment. The Western-style complex is hardly anything lavish, but it’s nothing to scoff at, either. Getting an apartment at all in Tokyo is a feat in and of itself, and the luxury Goro has won himself by snatching one up must be signs of his wealth. Or extreme luck. In any case, Akira is openly gaping at his surroundings, even going as far as to clutch Goro’s shoulder in his awe.

“Wow,” he says, admiring the stylish lobby. Goro snickers.

“Not used to this?”

“Well…”

He doesn’t continue that sentence, releasing Goro’s shoulder and following him into the elevator. He makes sure to stand a respectable distance away from the other boy as they ascend to the thirteenth floor—thirteenth? He must have quite a view—and doesn’t stand too close when Goro is unlocking his door, instead appraising the contents of the hallway.

“Morgana is a little antisocial,” Goro explains, and he pushes the door open, standing aside to allow Akira in first. Akira does enter, albeit slowly. “Forgive him if he does not warm up to you completely on this first visit. But he’s very cooperative, I swear.”

Akira nods, looking around. The interior of Goro’s apartment strikes a nice balance between minimalist and kitschy, with a few personal effects here and there and clear signs of living in the unfolded blankets and empty coffee mugs strewn about the living room. Some cat toys are also visible from where they stick out underneath Goro’s couch. However, it’s the only evidence that Morgana has a presence here, and the cat himself is nowhere to be found.

As Goro takes Akira’s jacket off and hangs it somewhere, Akira peers further in. He searches for anything that looks remotely like his plush cat back at home but discovers nothing.

“Where’s Morgana?” he asks, and toes off his shoes before stepping onto the soft carpet of Goro’s floor. It nearly catches him off-guard. He traverses deeper into the room, calling out for Morgana in an exaggerated whisper.

“Here, kitty kitty kitty…” No cat. Geez, tough audience, much? Although Akira continues creeping around for any signs of Morgana, the cat doesn’t turn up, even with Akira’s cleverly-worded temptations. The entire time Goro just watches him, holding in his amusement. _Real help you are, detective,_ Akira muses sourly.

After Goro has deemed himself properly entertained, he steps in. “That’s not going to work.” He smirks. “Wait for me here, okay?”

With that, he brushes past Akira and disappears into the hallway, leaving Akira to awkwardly examine the living room. Akira’s first instinct is to flop on the couch or lean against the wall or do _something_ , not stand aimlessly in the middle of the room like a lost puppy, but it feels weird to just insert himself in the scene without feeling incredibly invasive. He settles for occupying the edge of the loveseat.

Some time passes before things actually progress. “Morgana, can you get out of my laundry basket, _please_?” he hears Goro say through the thin walls of the apartment. There’s some shuffling and the sound of a cat mewing, and then a quiet grunt from Goro as he lugs the cat through the door.

When Akira sees Goro next, he’s in the hallway. The look on his face is soft and affectionate, a complete contrast to his earlier nagging. “Go on and meet Akira,” he coos to Morgana, in such a quiet and babyish voice that Akira’s heart stutters upon hearing it. Morgana’s eyes immediately light on him. He’s got striking blue irises, a gaze that seems to soak in his environment in full detail, and his responding meow is enough to convince Akira that this cat understands more than he lets on.

“Morgana.” Akira tests the name on his tongue. He crouches a little, watching as the cat’s eyes track his movements. Morgana appears to be considering him before he, as well, leaps down from Goro’s arm to greet Akira with a nuzzle to his thighs. Akira gasps.

“Goro… !”

“Yes?”

“He’s so…”

“I know.”

“So _cute_!” Akira reaches out to pet Morgana on the head, and Morgana purrs softly. Wow! Most cats he tries to pet immediately lash out at him. Though that might just be the fact that they’re strays. Whatever. He continues stroking the cat’s soft fur, relishing in the way Morgana leans into it.  

“I’m surprised he even got this close to you,” Goro observes, taking a seat right by where Akira’s kneeling. “Most times he’ll try to run.”

“Oh yeah? You have people over?”

“Not often.” Goro sighs. “It’s just the prosecutor I work with, and sometimes clients. You’re only the second friend I’ve had visit me, actually.”

The information is truthfully somewhat concerning. But now that Akira has it, he doesn’t know what to do with it except stash it away and save for later. He hums and scratches behind Morgana’s ear, to which the cat responds with a warning hiss. Okay, so no ear petting, then.

“I’ll write you a Morgana-care guide soon,” Goro says. His voice is somehow quieter and more tender than before, though for what reason, Akira doesn’t know. “Thank you for agreeing to this, by the way.”

“Hey, anytime. It’s no problem.” Akira turns around to smile at Goro, not even registering that Morgana has lept up to take a seat beside his owner. With a startled laugh, Goro hoists Morgana onto his lap and gently pets him.

“He might be a little troublesome at first, sadly. He has expensive tastes.”

“Expensive?”

“Yes. He likes sushi,” Goro explains, shaking his head lightly.

Akira’s jaw drops. “Sushi. You mean like, _human_ sushi.” Goro makes a funny face at that, but nods regardless, and Akira leans forward to bop Morgana on the nose. “You little thief, have you been draining the good detective’s funds?”

“Not _too_ much, I assure you.” Goro scoffs, amusement lining his tone. His lips turn into a smile, then, one that Akira is fain to reciprocate. They stare at each other for a few moments before Goro tears his gaze away bashfully, fiddling with Morgana’s collar.

“I know you’ll take good care of him,” Goro whispers, after a brief pause. Akira blushes at the sound. _Shit, shit, shit! Why is he so cute?_

“O-Of course,” he blurts out. “I’ll do it for you. A-And Morgana.” He adds that last part quickly, noticing how Goro’s eyes grow round at the response. Goro faces away, still shy, but his smile threatens to widen with how they twitch at the corners.

“I’ll hold you to that, then.”

Another few moments of silence reign in the peaceful apartment before Akira musters up the courage to nudge Goro’s leg, murmuring, “It’s gonna be weird not seeing you for lunch.”

Goro’s brows crease, and he nods sullenly. “Yes… I’d gotten rather used to them.”

“Who’s going to force me to do my homework now?” Akira teases, causing Goro to lightly kick him with his foot.

“Yourself! You should know better by now.”

“But _Goroooo_ ,” he whines, leaning slightly onto the other boy’s knees, “I can’t do anything by myself! All my friends say the same thing.”

Goro huffs, stuttering as he speaks. “You’re helpless.”

At last, Akira allows the laughter to escape him, releasing all the tension from his shoulders. Goro joins despite himself, until their mirth devolves into nothing but small breathy giggles. Afterwards, Goro looks warmly at him. He turns his gaze towards his lap.

“I’ll… miss this.”

Akira’s throat tightens. _And I’ll miss you,_ he doesn’t say back. “… Yeah. Me too.”

A long, charged second passes where neither of them speak, but are carefully assessing each other as if the words they long to say will manifest in the air. Goro parts his lips and his breath hitches. _Is he going to tell me something?_ Akira wonders, his heart racing faster.

But it doesn’t come. All of a sudden, Morgana meows loudly, scaring the two out of their staring contest. “Oh… Of course,” Goro mutters, standing quickly and barely missing hitting Akira in the face with his legs. “I forgot I had to feed you. Come on, Morgana.”

Morgana follows behind Goro with a pleased mew. Before the cat leaves, he casts a glance at Akira and blinks slowly at him. Then he trots away.

Childishly, Akira pouts. He presses his cheek against the side of the couch and watches Goro assemble Morgana’s lunch, blowing air through his nose. For some reason, it feels like Morgana stole an opportunity from him. _Little thief indeed,_ Akira thinks through his bitterness.

“Do you want to stay a little longer, Akira?” Goro asks, as he opens a can of cat food. “I’m not due for work in a while. I think I have some old Featherman DVD’s lying around…”

“Really?” Akira perks up at the idea. “Hell yeah, man, let’s do it.”

Goro’s lips quirk, and once Morgana’s face is dug inside his food bowl Goro is off sifting through his DVD rack. Akira kneels beside him, if only to watch and admire Goro’s concentrated face, but he gets bored after a while and actually starts to help out. By the time they’ve found one of the older Featherman editions, Morgana (having finished most of his food) stretches out over the couch, forcing Akira and Goro to squeeze together on what little space is left.

“Sorry about him,” Goro says, laughing stiltedly. He’s warm and soft next to Akira and everything about this reminds him of their childhood.

“He’s cute, so I forgive him.” Akira smirks and returns his attention to the television. At this point, the team is assembling to do their signature pose, an action that Goro and Akira would mimic as kids. “Hey, look—it’s your favorite, Red Hawk.”

“And look, it’s your favorite, literally everyone else.”

“ _Wow._ ” Akira, faking a frown, lightly nudges Goro on the shoulder. “You make that sound like a bad thing, Goro. I just have an immense love for things as a whole, you know? They’re not complete if they’re apart.”

“I guess that explains why your favorite color is ‘rainbow’,” Goro muses offhand. He shifts, their knees knocking together, and Akira suppresses a squeak.

“Y—Yeah. I guess.”

After that, they fall silent, the two of them becoming engrossed with the TV. Goro is a comforting presence beside him, his steady breathing and constant warmth bringing equilibrium to Akira’s body, and Akira feels himself melt into it. They eventually end up way closer than they were at first, Akira half-sitting on Goro’s lap and Goro casually reclining on the arm rest.

It’s only then that Akira realizes they’ve already watched three episodes in a season. He looks at Goro, whose eyes are half-lidded and dozy, and smiles without willing it. “You’re sure you’re not gonna be late for work?” he drawls.

Goro nods off, and then sits up sharply. “What?”

“ _Work,_ ” Akira repeats. “You have work.”

Goro pales. With an apologetic frown, he slips away and flutters about the living room, gathering his things. Akira stands, too, stretching and yawning widely.

“I have to leave now.” Goro guides Akira to the door at a fast clip, simultaneously checking his watch. “I’ll bring Morgana to you tomorrow morning. Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” Akira grins lazily at him. “Good luck with your work, detective.”

“Of course.” Goro returns the smile, and the two of them leave the apartment together, heading for the train station. At one point they have to separate, and Akira thanks Goro for the lunch before he returns home to Leblanc giddy and in a daze. Being with Goro, he finds, puts him on all kinds of high. And if that’s wrong of him to feel—well, he doesn’t want to be right.  

 

* * *

 

Goro entrusts Morgana to Akira at approximately 6:00 AM.

Morgana, surprisingly, is not fussy as Goro plops him down into Akira’s arms. He is actually receptive to it, leaning into Akira and sniffing his clothes.

After a long conversation wishing Goro luck (which also includes Akira practically forcing a thermos of his famous Leblanc coffee into Goro’s hands), Akira bids him goodbye and sets Morgana down to sniff around the café. He knows Sojiro has a huge no-animal policy in the actual café—he reminded him so when Akira hastily texted him last night, telling him the news—and Futaba also liked to use it as an excuse to get Akira out of Leblanc to buy groceries.

“No animals in the café,” she would say, shooing him off. “Now go buy us carrots.”

Anyways, with that in mind, he herds Morgana up the stairs and into his dingy attic. Morgana sniffs around, assessing the quality of the place, but given that Akira can’t read his expression, he doesn’t know whether he’s impressed or disappointed. Regardless, Morgana leaps onto the bed and curls up on it, purring softly.

He’s sleeping already? Akira can’t blame him. He feels the same magnetic pull to the mattress, and looking at the clock just reaffirms his fatigue. Yawning slightly, Akira climbs into bed and tries not to hit Morgana when he closes his eyes and gets comfortable. He isn’t entirely sure that it’s a good idea to sleep when he’s just placed an unfamiliar animal in his house, but, well. Is any decision he makes a good one?

Still, he checks his windows and makes sure they’re closed. There’s also the staircase to worry about, but anything he tries most likely won’t work. He looks at Morgana who is staring at him in the darkness. Now would probably be a good time to check the guide Goro sent him.

… After going over the list for half an hour, he falls asleep. When he next wakes up, it’s around 7:30 AM. Morgana is, expectedly, nowhere to be seen—until Akira spies a little tail poking out from underneath the couch. Well… okay, then.

“Please tell me you haven’t found an old chocolate bar or something down there,” he laments, swinging his tired body out of bed. Morgana doesn’t respond, but his tail does twitch a little. So he can hear him. Probably.

Akira stares at that tail for way longer than necessary before deciding that he definitely, _definitely_ needs to study that guide more.

This will be harder than it looks.

—

“Yes, I’ve settled in…”

After wrestling off his shoes, Goro pads slowly into the hotel room, gauging its interior. He opts to leave the lights off; it would hardly be any help to his throbbing headache, and how it coils even tighter around his skull at the sound of Makoto lecturing him through the phone. _Lecturing—_ he supposes there’s a better word for that. Berating. Criticizing. It certainly doesn’t feel anything like Sae’s usual motherly discipline, anyhow.

Speaking of criticizing. Makoto is relentless in her strictures, giving Goro no room to butt in as she says, “You _know_ doing this comes with huge risks. And they’re risks I’d rather you not take—you’re like a brother to me, you know, and if I lost you— _God_ , if I lost you—”  

Goro presses his lips together, sliding his suitcase into the closet. “I know. I know, Makoto, but I’ve talked about it with Sae-san, and she said—”

“I don’t _care_ what she said!” Makoto’s voice is sharp, biting, her power still communicating even through the fuzzy reception. “And besides—leading these people into _traps_ and then _arresting_ them? Goro, that’s not right! It’s a recipe for disaster! Think about the people you’ll be endangering, the circumstances you might be ruining…”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Goro sinks onto the couch and heaves a loud sigh. “Makoto… don’t be naïve. The fact that these criminals _take_ the bait proves that they would have committed the crime anyway. This isn’t any different from back then. They’ll take anything because they are greedy, heartless thieves that want nothing more but to feed their own wallets.”

“But it’s just so… !”

“I know. Roundabout, yes?” Goro sighs again, throwing his head back and allowing the darkness to encroach his vision. “There’s no other way to lure them out of their hiding places. Makoto, if you trust me, please just let me continue with the mission.”

Silence crackles through the speaker. He knows he’s asking too much of her, and really, he doesn’t expect her to agree at all. But Makoto’s answering grunt is enough to sate him. “Sorry…” she breathes. “I trust you. I’m just—I’m just worried about you.”

“As you should be.” A smile creeps into his voice despite everything. “Please… just worry about your own family for now. I’ll be fine on my own. I’ve always been.”

“… I hope I can trust you on that.”

Makoto hangs up after bidding him a curt, quiet goodbye. Goro can’t help the guilt that gnaws a hollow in his chest. Still, he finishes unpacking and when that’s done, collapses against the bed with a groan. He isn’t expected to begin preparations until tomorrow, so he allows his mind to sink into a depth of nothingness, of the blacks and blues of his ceiling swirling like mist.

Though his trip has barely started, things have already kicked off in an undesirable direction. Technicalities and safeguards and uncertainties have seared a hole in his brain and now bombard him with endless questions. He puts an arm over his eyes—tries to block out the buzzing—tries to feel like he isn’t falling down a bottomless hole.  

How childish that he longs for another presence beside him. How stupid of him to want that other person to be Akira. He shoos that part of him away, for he’d decided a long time ago that he should stop relying solely on the other boy. A long time ago he’d decided, for better or for worse, to abandon the one who had made him feel safe for so long, to finally embark on his own journey.

And yet he can feel himself descending into that dangerous habit again. Having someone like Akira around to feel _wanted._ Akira is just like he remembers and more. Comforting, laidback, reassuring—everything Goro could never be.

Like an itch at the back of his mind, Goro craves some part of Akira to be here with him. _Maybe then,_ he thinks, _I could stop trembling like a baby deer on its legs._

Then a sudden idea strikes him. Rolling out of bed, Goro retrieves his attaché case and rummages through its contents. He pulls out the one thing he’d been looking for all along.

_Akira’s jacket._

Embarrassingly enough, Goro had forgotten to return the article of clothing to Akira earlier today. He’d been planning on it—that’s why it was in his attaché, not his suitcase—but while he was leafing through documents on the train Goro had found it still properly folded inside his attaché. Goro unfolds it now, holding it to his chest.

Its aroma is remarkably strong, coffee and laundry detergent and a bit of cologne. Goro sits on his bed and tilts his head down, sniffing tentatively. A feeling of warmth envelops him as Akira’s scent fills his nostrils, and the warmth travels throughout his body, making his head go pleasantly fuzzy. Shifting to lie on his side, Goro hugs the jacket closer and sniffs it again.

At once, his breathing slows, and his fingers stop trembling. The buzzing thoughts in his heads—the yelling, crying, begging—quiet into whispers.

 _Finally,_ he thinks through the sludge in his head.

Truly, it’s the calmest he’s felt since arriving in Saitama. He remembers how violently he’d been shivering as he stepped out of the train and into the cold city air, how hard he’d dug his nails into his palms. Akira’s scent is like the salve to his wounds, the ice to his ache. He’d be a mess without it.

But the things Goro would do to have the _real_ Akira here with him, to be able to smell and feel him. What what Akira do? He would hug him like that day at the park, maybe. Whisper kind words in his ear. He would definitely do something to quell the anxiety in his heart… and he would also…

… Not approve of what Goro is doing.

_Of course he wouldn’t. Not him._

Tears welling in his eyes, Goro buries his face in Akira’s jacket and inhales deeply. When he exhales, it’s shaky and weak.

He starts to fumble around the blankets with almost comical desperation. His hands are trembling so hard that they almost miss their target—the wallet he had tossed haphazardly on his bed, consequently lost in the mess of blankets. Struggling to pick it up, he curses when he loses his grip on the Polaroid of him and Akira, but he manages to slip the photo out and stares at it. Immediately, he is reminded of Akira’s undying loyalty, his willingness to mend and reconnect.

By now, it’s been established that Akira can’t know what he’s up to. It’d pose too many dangers, and if Akira found out about Goro’s modus operandi, he’d most certainly leave Goro behind. Goro’s heart seizes at the thought. No. That can’t happen again. And even if Goro has to lie to him, at least he’ll still be…

… The sensation of guilt from earlier returns, stronger and sharper this time, tasting like metal in his mouth. Goro swears under his breath and wraps the jacket tighter around himself.

And if he pretends Akira’s arms are the ones holding him, that’s his business.

 

* * *

 

Akira stares hard at Morgana.

Morgana stares right back.

“… Meow,” Akira says.

Morgana says nothing.

Flipping onto his back, Akira hums a low tune under his breath as he waves around Morgana’s feather wand, watching the cat trace it with his unsettling blue eyes. Once in a while Morgana will jab his paw out to grab it, but otherwise he’s startlingly neutral, as if the wand has no effect on him at all. Probably for the better given Akira’s precarious position.

“You know,” Akira muses, half to himself and half to Morgana, “you’re really lucky to have Goro as an owner. I bet he takes real good care of you.”

Morgana’s gaze trails off to glance at Akira, then returns to staring at the feather.

“I wonder what kinds of things you see at home,” he continues. “Does Goro like to sing in the shower? Does he trip over himself sometimes? Maybe he trips over _you_ instead. You’re kind of hard to see in the dark, y’know, except when you open your eyes.”

Morgana kind of murmurs something, but not really, since cats don’t talk (as far as Akira knows). He gives up waving the toy and lets it fall from his hands. Morgana watches it, unmoving, and then he starts to meow. Akira chuckles.

“Sorry. My arm was getting sore.”

Morgana mewls again. He seems content with licking his paw, so Akira kicks away the feather toy and stares at his still-bare ceiling.

For the past week and a half, Morgana has been interesting company for a boy who does nothing but eat a lot and go to school sometimes. At least, Sojiro seems to have grown fond for the cat, as has Futaba (who is quick to smother Morgana in affection—the kind of smothering Akira knows Morgana despises). The only cuddles that Morgana seems to tolerate are that of Ann’s, the sole person he’d taken a liking to among Akira’s friends.

Aside from that, Morgana’s very warm. Akira lets him sit on his lap and sleep on his stomach all he likes because recently, it’s been getting cold, and without any reason to go outside and warm his bones (in other words, see Goro) Akira has nothing to do but hibernate underneath his blankets. Morgana has the kind of heat Akira lacks from day to day.

Human heat, mostly. Because he’s lonely.

“I miss Goro,” he blurts suddenly to Morgana, pouting his lips. “You miss him too, right?”

Morgana meows, nuzzling up to Akira’s stomach. He bumps his forehead against Akira’s shirt and rubs against it. Akira resists the urge to stifle him in a hug.

“I just… kind of wish he was here so I wouldn’t feel so lost all the time,” Akira confesses, because really, since Goro had left more than a week ago, Akira has been… mostly unmotivated. He has his friends and his job and college but without the anticipation of seeing Goro every day for lunch, the world has dulled a little in color.

It’s selfish of him to think so. But the closer they got, the more attached Akira became to Goro. Maybe he was just so excited to see his best friend again, to drink up all of his appearances like they were the only thing that could revitalize him. And really, that excitement has yet to wear off. Because when you have a frustratingly complex puzzle like Goro, the one thing you want to do is solve it, to unravel it until you get to the heart inside.

“Is that bad?” Akira pets Morgana’s fur sullenly. “I mean, I want to give him space and all, but he doesn’t even trust me enough to tell me his secrets…”

Morgana purrs, whipping his tail a little. Sighing, Akira sits up and cradles Morgana’s face, watching as the cat’s eyes land on his.

“Hey, Morgana?” Akira whispers. Morgana meows. “I just… want it to be the way it was before. Like when we could tell each other anything without a second thought. You know what I’m talking about, right?” He pauses theatrically, as if allowing time for Morgana to respond, before continuing, “That’s exactly right. I just don’t know how to get that across… What else am I supposed to say? That I’m madly in love with him and want to spend all my time with him?”

Morgana meows.

“… You think so?” Akira huffs, releasing Morgana’s face and slapping a palm over his face. “God, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. It’s not like I’m _that_ needy anyway.”

And that's the biggest fucking lie of the century.

While Morgana offers no support of his own, he at least provides some kind of comfort with his body warmth. With another sigh, Akira keeps absently petting Morgana while his thoughts trail off into the nondescript.

… And then he's thinking about Goro again. His hair, his eyes, his smile. Why can't Akira ever get past that plastic face Goro hides beneath? During their childhood, Goro would voice his fears almost always. He would hold Akira’s hand when he was scared and hide his face in his shoulder, too, even after he was a considerable two inches taller than the other boy. At times like those, Akira was the protector. He shielded Goro from harm and soothed him until the jitters melted away.

“Does Goro have anyone like that now?” he murmurs to Morgana, fingering his collar. “Does he hug you at night when he gets nightmares? Does he keep you close when he’s anxious? As a kid I’d sometimes sing to him, y’know. Like my mom’s lullabies and stuff.”

Morgana gives him a look that could be translated into anything, but Akira perceives it as a _You can sing?_ kind of look and blows a raspberry at Morgana. “Oh, c’mon. I’m not a total good-for-nothing. I like to think of myself as a good singer.” As if to convince himself of it, he starts humming the tune under his breath, stroking Morgana’s fur slowly. It goes a little off-key towards the end, but he picks it back up at the same time his phone dings. Curiously, he goes to check it.

**Goro: Good evening.**

Akira immediately scrambles to unlock his phone.

**Akira: HEY!**

**Akira: Oh my god.**

He wants to cringe at his over-enthusiastic response, but with no way to take back text messages, he wallows in his shame as Goro types something back.

**Goro: Haha, I know. It’s been a while.**

**Goro: Have you eaten?**

**Akira: … If you count donuts as dinner, then yes.**

**Goro: Please no.**

Akira snorts, startling Morgana slightly, and thinks of something else to say. The lullaby from before returns and then he’s singing it quietly as he types along to the melody, smiling when he gets the notes just right. Goro’s messages add an extra hop to his song.

**Akira: You’ll be coming back soon, right?**

**Goro: Yes. I’m glad for it.**

**Akira: Then how about this? I’ll meet you at your apartment on that day.**

**Akira: Does that sound good?**

**Goro: Of course! But I do hope Morgana is in one piece.**

Akira, twisting his body to get at a good angle, snaps a picture of the sleepy Morgana. When it’s sent, Goro sends back several emojis that give Akira a fucking heart attack.

Okay. Yeah. He is most definitely in love.

**Akira: See? I’m a good cat-sitter.**

**Goro: I didn’t doubt you for one second.**

**Akira: You doubted me a second ago.**

**Goro: Stop.**

**Goro: Anyways, I’ll see you in a few days. I must be going now.**

**Akira: See you then!**

Akira shuts off his phone, rolls onto his back and sighs dreamily. Morgana, climbing onto his stomach and settling there for an indefinite amount of time, cuts him off abruptly. Still, despite the interruption, he keeps thinking. He gets to see Goro again. There’s so much he has to tell him, so much he wants to do with him by the time he gets back…

His heart’s in his throat and his head is in the stars by the time he’s done daydreaming.

 

* * *

 

Slowly and steadily, Goro seats himself on the couch. But the iciness of his skin remains sizzling beneath the surface, even as he waits in the comfort of his apartment.

He vainly rubs his palms together while he counts the minutes to Akira’s arrival. Though the thought of him occupies a soft spot in Goro's heart, he still feels the cold from his time Saitama, laying like a sheet of ice over his chest. He acknowledges, belatedly, that the feeling is not going away anytime soon—he’d stained himself with it, after all, by taking up this mission in the first place.

And waiting for it to end only tightened dread’s grip on Goro’s heart. Expecting things to wash away only drowned him further in the ocean of his crimes.

Sleeping in his room the night of his return, he felt that very same sensation seize him by the throat. His shirt was soaked through with sweat by the time he’d finished thrashing around in bed, hoping to rid of the memories of those wretched weeks. The only thing that brought some semblance of calm was Akira’s jacket, ever-potent in its healing effects. He remembers falling asleep with it wrapped around his neck like some kind of scarf.

Now, he can at least find reassurance in the fact that he will be seeing Akira soon. He can’t wait any longer. His trip had thrown every possible obstacle in his direction as if delighting in his subsequent bruises and scars (the injury on his shoulder blade—left by a stray bullet that had grazed him just so—being of the most prominent), and all that he wants is for someone to mend them.

So while he waits for Akira to come over, he busies himself cleaning his apartment. He hides all the clothes he’d left littered across the floor, puts all the mugs in the sink and opens the curtains so that the room appears less dreary than it actually is. His heart jumps when he hears the buzzer sound while he’s arranging the pillows, and he hurries to buzz Akira in, trying to level his voice into something calmer when he answers, “Come in!”

“I’m on my way,” Akira replies with a cheekiness to his voice.

Flopping down onto his couch, Goro fixes his hair and takes a few deep breaths. He thinks of what to say when Akira walks in. _It’s nice to see you again. I hope I didn’t burden you too much. I missed you. Please don’t leave me._

He mentally kicks himself and crosses those last two off.

Anticipation balloons in his chest when he hears the knock sound on his door, followed by Morgana’s tiny meow. Wiping his palms on his shirt, Goro stands and unlocks the door (not too quickly, not too eagerly), only to be abruptly answered with a hug.

Morgana yelps and squirms out of the embrace. Akira, meanwhile, is holding fast, enveloping Goro in that scent he missed so much. Suppressing tears, Goro wraps his arms around Akira’s back and pats him tenderly.

“Hello there,” he whispers. Akira is so warm and soft that he doesn’t want to let go.

“I missed you.” Akira says it much too rapidly, surprising Goro with his earnestness. Then, as if realizing his slip-up, he releases Goro and straightens out his lapels, coughing awkwardly. “S-Sorry. Your fancy blazer got all wrinkled.”

Goro shakes his head. “No… don’t worry about it.” He’s still trying to process the fact that Akira _missed_ him, _him,_ of all people, before Akira is ushering Goro into the living room where Morgana is burying his face in a pile of Goro’s blankets.

“Why don’t you say hi to your owner?” Akira chastises Morgana, pulling the cat away.

Morgana meows in protest, and then he looks curiously at Goro. Goro takes Morgana in his hands just as the cat is about to leap out of Akira’s grasp.

“Hello, Mona,” Goro murmurs, nuzzling his cat’s nose. Akira snorts.

“Mona?”

“His nickname,” Goro defends, hating how his face heats up under Akira’s insistent gaze. Plopping down onto the couch, Goro releases Morgana to let him curl up in his lap just as Akira takes a seat next to him. “I’m going to assume he caused you no trouble, given by all the pictures you sent me throughout the course of those two weeks.”

“No trouble at all.” Akira grins, lazy and sure. “He was good company, too. Wasn’t the same as you, but—it was enough to keep a lonely guy like me busy.”

Goro scoffs, but he doesn't miss the way his heart skips at Akira’s sincere words. “I hardly think you were ‘lonely’. Your friends seem to visit a lot, don’t they? I caught glimpses of them in your pictures.”

“Oh, uh… yeah.” Akira scratches his cheek. “I love them and all, but they’re a different kind of company, y’know? Sometimes I could do with the quiet. And like, hanging out with you is different. I can’t explain it.” He purses his lips in contemplation. “I guess I feel more at ease.”

“At ease…?” Goro asks, trailing off uncertainly. _That can’t be right._

“Yeah, I dunno. Like I can be myself. I mean, I’m _always_ myself, but I feel like I’m always… Pretending, I guess, when I’m around other people. If that makes sense.” In sudden embarrassment, he averts his gaze and takes off his glasses to wipe at them. “I-I know it doesn’t make sense! But… I can kind of let my guard down when I’m around you. I guess it has something to do with our history together?”

Goro, too, looks away to absorb this newfound information. The admission is like a wave coming to swallow him whole, to drench him in its honesty and richness. _How could he say something like that to me?_ Goro thinks, abashed. _It’s not fair. It’s not fair, not when I still can’t…_

“Sorry…” Akira sighs after a moment. “I’m getting a little bit mushy here, aren’t I?”

“A bit,” Goro confesses, though with a smile on his face.

Akira meets this smile with one of his own, shaky and nervous but still effective in communicating its sincerity. “You know what I mean, though, right? It’s like… Like even though we only just reunited a month ago, I still feel as if I’ve known you forever. As if that feeling from childhood never went away. It only grew.”

Goro’s throat feels dry and his chest squeezes at the words. “… I-Is that so?”

“Ah… yeah.” Akira’s face, so blushy and taut with uncertainty before, actually softens into something more firm as he stares at a spot on the carpet. “I like hanging out with you. Reminds me of the old days. It was fun back then, wasn’t it?”

Not trusting himself with his answer, Goro simply nods instead. Really, he wants so badly to return to that same level of comfort, but he’s afraid of it, feels like toeing the line has already gotten him to this pitiful state he’s in right now. So he holds his tongue and clenches his fists. Akira sitting so close to him has messed with his head enough.

“Can I be clear with you?” Akira lifts his gaze, pins it right on Goro’s own. Goro has to stop himself from withdrawing, and he gives a pleasant smile that isn’t pleasant enough, doesn’t feel right at all but is the best he can do at this point.

“Go ahead,” he says at last.

“… Okay.” Akira looks back down. When he speaks next, his voice is quiet, more subdued. “I want... to go back to that. To the way it was before.”

Goro’s eyes widen. He doesn't process it at first, but his lack of response seems to spur Akira on, the boy scooching closer to him on the loveseat.

“Because my feelings for you—” Akira looks up. “Haven’t changed.”

Goro’s lips part in shock.

Something cold and rotten plants itself at the base of Goro’s stomach, curling there relentlessly. Mostly, his thoughts are less of how Akira _likes him back_ , never stopped liking him back, but more of the fact that he didn’t plan this, didn’t ask for it, never knew it would _happen_ and now that it _has_ he has no idea what to do except—

His muscles lock in place as Akira puts a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asks, concern lining his voice, and _god—_ that voice does so many things to his already muddled thoughts. Goro fights them off, tries to keep a level head.

“I’m…” He takes a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m flattered, but…”

Akira raises a brow.

“I don’t think this is wise.” As he says it, Goro lowers his eyes, not wanting to see Akira’s reaction to it. He, of course, can’t ignore the way Akira’s breath hitches, and how his hand slips from Goro’s shoulder.

“What… do you mean?” Akira sounds more confused than anything. Goro bites his lip hard.

“We shouldn’t… I mean, we’re still getting to know each other,” he elaborates. When Akira doesn’t respond, Goro conjures up some half-baked response in his head: “Don’t misunderstand. I agree when you say there’s still a connection there. But I don’t think we’re quite… well, that is to say…”

“So you don’t like me?” Akira interrupts, and Goro’s heart lurches in his chest.

“I didn’t… !” He trails off. “I didn’t say that.”

Dead air overwhelms the two for a long, excruciating moment where neither of them speak or move. Not even Morgana dares to break the silence.

Goro, unfortunately, knows that he messed up. He’d pushed Akira away again, even when he was so close to having him all to himself. Angrily, he bites back tears and covers his face with his hand. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

“I’m sorry,” Goro says after a while, in such a small voice that for a moment he thinks Akira doesn’t hear him. But, heaving a sigh, Akira shifts and places his hand over Goro’s, causing the latter to look up in surprise. His touch is staggeringly gentle, eyes large and imploring. Goro licks his lips and tries not to break eye contact with him.

“Don’t be sorry. I think I understand,” Akira answers softly, running his thumb over the back of Goro’s hand. “Do you need more time to think about it?”

Without another word, Goro nods. His eyes threaten to spill over with tears.

Smiling warmly at him, Akira pats his hand a couple of times before releasing it entirely. “Of course. We can go on being friends for now. Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” Goro whispers, already missing Akira’s touch. Akira exhales, shifting back in his seat as if to establish distance.

“Then we can keep being friends. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want.”

Although he says that, disappointment lingers like needles in his voice. Guilt eats away at Goro slowly, leaving a hole much larger than the one the business trip had left in his stomach. But he nods back and tries to smile. Akira isn’t fazed, anyhow, even with the rejection that must have cut him deep. Goro feels that pain, too—feels it even further in his being.

“I should probably—” Akira starts to say, standing up, but Goro grasps his wrist.

“No!” He swallows at the desperation in his tone. “S—Stay. For now.”

Startled at this, Akira reluctantly complies and sits back down. He seems a little bit uncomfortable, but some of that tension melts away when he asks, “What do you wanna do?”

Goro worries at his lip. “Let’s just…” he murmurs. “Talk. For now.”

And so they talk. And it’s like the conversation from moments ago never happened. Like Goro didn’t just fracture their already fragile relationship, like Akira never wanted to go further in the first place. And it stings—stings more than the cuts on his skin, the wound on his back.

By the end of it, he returns Akira’s jacket and pretends the thought of being without it doesn’t make his stomach drop with anxiety. He pretends, like he is so used to doing, that the tremors don't return the moment Akira leaves his apartment.

And his memories resurface.

_Flashing lights._

_Screaming policemen._

_Goro’s own heartbeat, hard and heavy in his ears as he narrowly avoids a bullet._

With no one but Morgana left to watch him burn, Goro collapses against the couch and lets his thoughts overwhelm him to the point of numbness. He’d wanted someone to heal this pain at first—someone to save him from himself. But the only thing he did was hurt his conscience further, deny himself the medicine that he’d craved so much.

He ruined his chances. Now he fears he’ll never get it again.   

 _Stupid,_ he repeats to himself, more insistently.  _Stupid._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry


	8. crepes

The dream begins with a childhood memory. The sky hangs over them, a floating ocean, a mirror reflection. As Akira and Goro roam about the empty streets, cicadas and crickets chirping a discordant tune around them, Goro leads Akira while the latter trails doggedly behind. It’s hot, but the sun doesn’t slow Goro down; if anything, it invigorates him, causing him to push forward with almost gleeful enthusiasm.

“Will Fumiko-san make those crepes I like?” Goro asks suddenly, anticipation on his face. Akira takes a moment to register the sentence. He struggles to speak, what with the heat and all, and when he does, it’s a slow, lazy drawl.

“Sure, I think so. She knows you're staying over for dinner, after all.”

“How sweet of her.” Goro smiles widely. All of a sudden, he stops, and in the brief pause he catches Akira’s wrist. “… Shoot. I think I left my notebook at the hideout.”

Akira lifts his brows. “Really? Are you sure?” he asks dubiously. He’s sleepy and extremely sluggish, enough that the thought of walking back makes his head hurt, but, not wanting to show his reluctance, he straightens his back and tries to look as attentive as possible. Not that Goro notices anyway—he’s too busy staring at the floor.

“Yes, I was certain I brought it with us… Weren’t we looking through it earlier?” he says.

“Oh…” Akira bites his lip. “Right.”

Setting down his backpack and Red Hawk figurine, Goro says, “I’m gonna go get it real quick. Would you wait here for me?”

Leaving Goro alone for more than five minutes makes Akira anxious. However, he’s in no position to argue; he’d definitely slow Goro down if he tagged along, and anyways, it won’t be dark for a while. It should be safe, shouldn't it? With that, he nods his assent. “As long as it ta—”

The words fuzz out. It’s a sure sign that Akira must be waking up, and he wonders briefly how he could have known that in his state. He slips in and out of consciousness, experiencing the dream in snatches, a strange cross between reality and imagination. And then—

The scenery shifts suddenly, coalescing into darkness. Tears are wet on Akira’s face as he weathers the stinging in his calves, his arms, the rawness of his throat. Before he knows it, Goro is there; he is sobbing in Akira’s arms. His fists are clenched so tightly into Akira’s shirt that they look white beneath the deathly pale moonlight.

“I—I thought you were gone—”

“I told you I wouldn’t leave…”

“I missed you… please don’t leave me—”

Akira’s eyes fly open as he wakes.

Returning back to consciousness, his senses piece back together, and he hazily processes that his phone is ringing. Groggily, he fishes it out of the blankets. That _stupid_ cat ringtone Ryuji made him download (which seems less of a good idea now than it did the first time) shrills and drives him to the point of madness, so he smashes his thumb against the “accept call” button, waiting for the person on the other side to begin speaking.

“Akira-kun, did I wake you?”

“… Mom?” Alert now, Akira sits up and shields his eyes from the sunlight. “Uh, hey, it’s been a while! Wh—Why are you calling? Not that I don’t want you to call, I just—”

“Silly, I know what you mean. I’ve been meaning to check up on you. How’s college?”

“College?” Akira collapses against his pillows, sighing loudly. “College is… college. Just a lot of work, y’know. I’d explain more but I think Dad tells you pretty much everything he sees on my social media, so…”

His mother’s bell-like laughter rings through the speakers. “I know, I know. Typical of your father to not cry during your departure but cling to every little detail about your college life. He reminds me of your grandmother. Always asking questions—”  

Akira situates himself so that he is sitting up against the wall, putting his phone on speaker so he can check all of his notifications. His mother speaks volubly about the things he’s missed during his absence, like his neighborhood’s favorite stray having kittens and his aunt inventing the town’s next biggest coffee fad. His cousin met someone over the summer, too, and they’re planning on announcing their relationship to the whole family this winter.

All the while Akira listens intently, pitching in where he needs to. It’s not that he doesn’t care about what’s been happening back at his hometown; he truly does. But it’s hard to maintain focus when his mind keeps drifting off to what happened just weeks before, lingering on the most painful details despite his best efforts. Rejection is not something he can say he’s used to, because his only romantic experience yielded success (at least up until the point Goro went and deserted him). Thinking about how he misread all the signs makes his heart squeeze in shame.

“How’s Goro-kun?” his mother asks suddenly, and Akira does a double-take. He closes the news app he was grooming through (fresh with news about Goro, of course) and stutters through his response.

“G-Good! We’ve been good. Great, actually.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” His mother sighs. “You know, when you told me about him a month ago, I was so shocked to find out he was a celebrity. I’m glad the two of you are still friends, though—I miss the boy _terribly_. You know that picture you sent me recently?”

“I, uh…” Akira is embarrassed by the pause that follows. “I—I send a lot of photos.”

Much of them taken by surprise, actually—Goro doesn’t seem to mind when he does this (as it happens, he is unsurprisingly photogenic no matter what angle you catch him in) and he even asks for Akira to send them over text.

“I mean the one you took at Inokashira Park. He really looks like his younger self in that picture. The smile is the same—and it looks different than when he’s on TV, you know? I’ve seen some of his interviews, but his smile in the photo you sent me seems a lot more goofy. I like it more—kind of feels more innocent, don’t you think?”

Akira has to stop and consider this. He’d never noticed that—well, as much as his dignity would allow him to, anyway, given how often he forces himself to avoid scrolling through their selfies. Typical of his mother to scrutinize, though. It almost makes him smile.

“Which reminds me!” his mom pipes up, startling him. “I have a suggestion.”

Akira shifts to rid of the discomfort in his butt. “And uh, what’s that?”

“Why don’t you invite him to come with you to visit us this coming October?”

If Akira had been drinking anything, he would’ve spit it out.

“Th… This October?” he stammers, suppressing the surprise that had been rising in his voice. He understands her meaning—this trip, after all, had been in the works since last month. The mere thought of whisking Goro away to visit Yamakita leaves him dizzy with possibilities.

Although he admits being stuck in the same house as Goro for more than one day sounds a lot less delectable than it would have a month ago.

“Yes, I’m sure he’ll enjoy it.” Akira can hear the smile in his mom’s voice. “Akira-kun, I want to see him so badly! He’s grown so much it almost scares me. And anyways, a lot has changed since he left town, and I think it’ll do him some good to leave the city. Pollution and stuff. You can take him around and reintroduce him to everything! Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Fun, sure. Beneficial, maybe not. He’s still having a hard time controlling his beating heart whenever he and Goro hang out (and it truthfully hasn’t dulled at all despite the rejection). Akira crosses his legs and leans his forehead against his knees, considering, fruitlessly, all the things that might come from this. Maybe even more rejection.

He doesn’t wanna think about it.

“I’ll get back to you on that,” he says finally, biting his lip. “It was nice talking to you, Mom. I’ll call you later.”

“Of course, of course. And bring news about Goro-kun’s response, all right?”

With that, he bids her goodbye and hangs up, heaving one big sigh for good measure. Somehow he has the feeling he won’t act on her request until the last second.

For the rest of the morning he goes about his usual routine, pretending his heart doesn’t hurt at the sight of his posters and magazines. It feels kind of pathetic how easily affected he is at the sight of Goro’s face, or the mere memory of it (as almost anything at this point reminds him of something he did with Goro). One time he nearly contemplated taking his posters down. Still, he shirked on that task, always finding something else to do.

“Doesn’t it get weird after a while?” Futaba asked him eventually. “After all, you guys are friends again, and… well, it doesn’t tickle you in the wrong way, does it?”

She did have a point. And, thinking on it now, Akira figures it’s about time to say goodbye to his old Goro collection. They’re remnants of an old era. An embarrassing fixation. He stares at one of his posters—an enlarged version of a magazine cover, with Goro at the forefront, donning designer glasses and an oversized coat—and he feels his face run hot. _Why do these posters have to be so stupidly hot?_ Akira laments. _They’re just making it harder for me…_

For now, he fixes himself a coffee while he stares off into space. It’s a weekend so he most likely won’t be meeting up Goro today, though the man’s schedule is a trainwreck and highly unpredictable. Not that Akira holds out hope for the slim chance of seeing him or anything. No sir. He slams his mug down onto the counter.

Not thinking about that right now.

“Akira?” The bell chimes, and peeking through the opening is a sleepy Futaba. Akira looks up from pouring his coffee and narrowly prevents it from overflowing.

“Oh—Futaba? What are you doing here so early?”

“… That’s…” She slips through the entrance, her head bowed and face flushed red. Something about her demeanor seems uncharacteristically off, and, clearing her throat, Futaba seats herself on one of the stools and folds her hands in front of her.

“Where did I go wrong… ?” she murmurs distractedly.

Akira furrows his brows, pouring another cup of coffee for Futaba. “What? What are you talking about?”

Futaba doesn’t speak, only to mumble a quiet “thank you” when Akira slides her her mug. Instead, she stares thoughtfully down at her reflection and bites down on her lip. “I… I made a big mistake, Akira.”

“Don’t tell me it’s one of your video games,” Akira jokes, but it’s painfully obvious by the way Futaba winces that it is, in fact, not one of her video games. She sighs mournfully, a sigh that Akira had heard coming from his _own_ mouth earlier. Her eyes are colored with worry.

“Akira…” She hunches her shoulders, then blurts, “I’ve fallen in love with someone!”

“Wh—” Akira, unfortunately, is drinking something at the moment of her announcement. But he doesn’t spit it out. He chokes on it, probably burns his tongue and throat in the process, and spills some coffee over his sleeve and shirt. Coughing, he wipes his mouth with his (clean) sleeve and looks at Futaba. Her eyes are squeezed shut and her mouth is twisted in an uneasy grimace.

“What brought this on?” Akira asks, voice still scratchy somewhat. Futaba unfolds her hands, burying her face in them.

“I-I don’t know! I just thought… y’know… I could ask you. Since you’ve had more romantic experiences than any one of us. Even though it’s just one. And it went… _horribly_ wrong, no offense.”

 _Way to rub it in…_ Akira massages his neck, biting back a scowl. “Why not ask Ann?”

“I can’t…”

“How come?”

“I just…” She grows even redder than humanly possible. “Ann-chan is…”

Ann-chan? … Oh. _Oh._

“You like Ann?” Akira guesses, and Futaba screeches into her palms. _Okay. Right on target, I guess_. Akira schools his expression into something more neutral despite the fact that inside, he’s brimming with excitement at the prospect of his friend crushing on another friend. Though it may just be a part of his desire to indulge in a romance other than his own failed one. Anyways. He says, “When did this first start?”

“Uhh,” Futaba answers intelligently. Admitting her crush to Akira seems to have temporarily put her out of service, and she shuts her open mouth, twiddling her thumbs. “J-Just… um, recently, we… um…”

“Uh-huh.”

“We started hanging out,” Futaba mumbles. “God! Do I really need to say any more? The bottom line is Ann-chan is cute and pretty and I’m just a carrot! An ugly, pathetic little carrot!”

“Woah, hey, what’s wrong with carrots?” Akira interjects, earning himself a glare from Futaba. He eases off, putting his hands up in surrender. “Listen, Futaba. You’re not just any carrot. You’re a kind, super smart, and endearing carrot. A sweet mini carrot.”

“Can we stop with the carrot analogy, please?” Futaba lifts her face to pout at him.

Akira shrugs. “You’re the one who brought it up, but okay.”

“Ugh… I just—sometimes it feels like she considers me a little sister,” Futaba continues, sullenly. “She even makes me call her ‘Ann-chan’. I don’t know what to do, Akira! What if she doesn’t take me seriously? What if she rejects me because… I don’t know, I’m not good enough? I mean, a girl as pretty as her needs to have standards, right?”

Akira rolls up his soiled sleeve and wipes down the coffee stains on his shirt. “I don’t know about you, Futaba… But for me, I wouldn’t even worry about that stuff. Standards, expectations, whatever… I just go for it, no questions asked.”

He tastes the lie on his tongue before it even leaves his mouth. Perhaps _before_ Akira hardly fussed over the petty details, but since meeting Goro, his days have been a flurry of indecision and doubt. What if standards were the reason why Goro rejected Akira? No, that wouldn’t be fair to assume—Goro was explicitly clear that it was because they weren’t prepared for any kind of relationship. But maybe if Goro wasn’t being honest with himself…

“I don’t understand how you’re so carefree about this,” Futaba says. “Remember when you were freaking out about Akechi becoming your friend again?”

“He’s different.” It comes out almost instinctively.

“Why?”

Why? Because Goro is a literal celebrity? Because Goro is leagues above him? Goro could have anyone he wanted, and the knowledge of that is troubling, no doubt. It feels like Akira has to _earn_ his affections if he wants to even stand on the same ground as him…

_… No. What am I thinking?_

“Akira?” Futaba’s voice is worried, now, and Akira shakes himself out of it. He has to breathe away some of the tension on his chest before speaking again.

“Sorry. He just is. Anyways, maybe you’re misinterpreting Ann’s character. She may like you back but not know how to express it beyond the limits of what her personality allows her.”

Dubiously, Futaba squints at him. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe it’s in her nature to shower everyone in affection.” Akira takes a sip of his coffee, pensive. “But that could be all she knows how to do. From what I know about Ann, she doesn’t have any pleasant romantic experiences, so her idea of flirting might be a little skewed.”

“Skewed…” Futaba stares down at her mug. “I don’t know… but Ann-chan is really kind. She doesn’t force me to do anything I’m uncomfortable with. She’ll even go to the arcade with me despite the fact she’s bad at video games. So, I think she has the right idea about love. Well, even if it isn’t love… that’s still how it should be, isn’t it?”

Something about her statement makes Akira’s gut curl inexplicably. But he nods, and says, “Of course. So, I think as long as you’re communicating, it should be fine.” His hands start to get antsy, so he grabs a rag and starts wiping down the counter for no reason. “Well, there’s probably still a long way to go before you can try anything, considering that… you know, you don’t know that much about each other. You should wait first.”

Futaba perks up, sitting straighter in her seat. “You think so?”

“Definitely.” _Don’t make the same mistakes I made._ “And make your intentions clear if you start pursuing her. Don’t want her to misconstrue it or anything.”

Futaba seems to be scrutinizing him, and Akira, growing more uncomfortable by the second, squirms in his spot. Eventually Futaba takes a long, indulgent sip of her coffee and slams it down on the counter. “Something happened, didn’t it?” she says matter-of-factly.

Akira almost knocks over his mug. Smooth. He is so, _so_ smooth.

“Why do you think that?” he asks, pretending he didn’t nearly betray his intent to keep the counter _clean_. Futaba, still nursing her cup of coffee, doesn’t respond for a few seconds.

“Nothing. Um, sorry for bothering you,” she mumbles. Then, she inhales sharply. “Actually—about Akechi—”

The bell chimes, and Futaba, startled, scrambles behind the counter to hide behind Akira’s back. At the door stands Goro, crisp and hardly ruffled despite the strong winds outside. He pushes the hair out of his face. “Oh, Akira. I’m glad to see you’re here.” He smiles, and god, it’s so unfair when Akira’s trying to stay upset at him. Goro slides into one of the seats at the bar and glances to the side of Akira. Akira forgets, briefly, that Futaba is still standing behind him as he’s too busy staring at Goro’s hair, but he averts his gaze and clears his throat.

“What’ll it be?” he asks. He hopes it’s not obvious that he’s forcing himself to be casual. Goro smiles at him again, then cups his chin in his hand.

“I still haven’t come enough times to decide on a favorite, I’m afraid. My apologies. Perhaps something sweet to contrast the bitter weather?”

An endearing answer as always, which isn’t doing much to help Akira’s hopeless crush. Also isn’t helping that Goro answers in that suave, honey-like voice. _God damn him._

Heaving a sigh, Akira leaves his spot at the counter to start on Goro’s order, his mind still preoccupied with echoes of his last conversation with his mother. Futaba, surprisingly, remains rooted where she stands.

“Um… !” The sound of her voice causes both Akira and Goro’s heads to snap in her direction. Futaba’s face is bright red, and she’s looking down at her neglected coffee rather than at Goro’s face. However, she’s clearly addressing him when she says, “Akechi-san! Y-You’re the one who arrested Masayoshi Shido, correct? You did something good for my mother…”

He furrows his brows. “Mother… ? Oh!” Goro’s eyes brighten in realization. “Are you referring to Wakaba Isshiki?”

Futaba nods vigorously, and the two engage in a hushed conversation that Akira cannot comprehend from this distance. He tears his gaze away to focus on his task. As much as he longs to steal a glance at the chattering detective, the ache in his chest only pulls his eyes away. He doesn’t want to think about him. He doesn’t want to think about anything.

But it’s not like Akira can focus on an entirely different topic either. Preparing Goro’s coffee, he runs down his mental checklist—college is a bust, work is boring, friends are preoccupied and he’s not interested in bothering them…

“I didn’t think someone so young could win the respect of the police,” Futaba is saying, fascinated now. Akira tunes into the conversation as he sets Goro’s coffee in front of him.

“It didn’t come easy.” Goro offers Akira a smile, taking a short sip of the coffee. “I had to fight alone most of the time. My coworkers had no faith me, and the only person willing to protect me was not taken seriously, either, for being a woman.” The concerned frowns on Akira and Futaba’s faces seem to deter Goro, however, as he takes on a defensive stance and clenches his fingers tight around his mug. “I’m fine now, you see.” A forced smile. “I have what I need.”

Something is left unspoken in that sentence, an undercurrent that rings unpleasantly in Akira’s ears. It sounds like more secrets. More hiding. No trust.

“I understand how that can get to you,” Futaba mumbles, her voice thick with emotion.  “No one believed me when I told them my mother was murdered. They brushed me off because I was a child and in mourning. Why would they listen to someone like me, someone who probably couldn’t make sound judgements by herself?”

Goro doesn’t answer her, because he doesn’t have to. The two share a look, one of understanding and respect. Akira does not know how to relate to that. In a way, he feels left out—divided from the bowl of experiences that both Goro and Futaba fed on, no way to gaze into the mirror of Goro’s adolescence, where Akira could not be present. He feels useless.

He wants to say something more, but this moment feels too fragile. So he leaves the two alone to whisper about their memories while he drinks from his coffee, contemplative.

Memories.

Like a sudden, strong wave of nausea, a memory rises to the surface. The farthest it gets is the night sky, the sounds of sobbing and trickling water before Akira chases the memory away. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

 

* * *

 

“I’m curious, what is your relationship with Futaba-chan, Akira?”

“Hmm?” Minutes had passed since Futaba was last here—she’d enjoined Goro to indulge in a plate of warm curry with her before inevitably disappearing into the streets in search of dessert. Chances are, she’s not going to come back, as episodes of her favorite anime air every Saturday evening; this leaves Leblanc to Akira and Goro, with the exception of Sojiro, who has returned from his smoke break. He quietly reads newspapers behind the counter as Akira and Goro drink another round of coffee in the booths.

“When she saw me, her first instinct was to hide behind you,” Goro points out, amusement in his tone. Akira stirs his coffee with a spoon. That… certainly happened, yeah.

“Honestly, I don’t know why she trusts me so much. I thought we were just friends but she seems to consider me as a brother.” He shrugs noncommittally. “And, ah, she’s Sojiro’s daughter. They live together. That’s why she keeps coming here, so after I moved in, I met her and then we started getting close.”

Goro hums in thought, stirring his coffee too. “I see.”

The topic of family seems to whittle away at some of Goro’s pleasant mask. Akira notices, because a faint, almost sullen pout surfaces on his lips. The origin of it is a mystery, though Akira doesn’t want to get any ideas. The last time he did, it ended sourly. Instead, he veers the topic of family in another direction: “My mom has been asking about you.”

“Your mom… Fumiko-san?” Goro asks, to which Akira nods an affirmation.

“Yeah, she’s been keeping up with the news since I told her about you. She and Dad really wanna see you again,” he admits. Goro raises a brow. He keeps stirring.

“Oh?”

The word itself holds no implications; however, the slight waver in tone, the pause held before it could leave his mouth, says something that Akira couldn’t hope to grasp.

Silently, he weighs the consequences of telling Goro about the invitation or lying to his mother about Goro’s answer. It would be cruel of Akira to keep Goro from experiencing this, to keep his _parents_ from experiencing this, and—if he had to be entirely honest—the notion of visiting Yamakita alongside Goro entices him. To be in the place he loves, with the boy who made his entire childhood… well, wouldn’t it sate this desire of his?

“How are they?” Goro asks suddenly, resting his head on his chin. Not an usual question by any means. However, the weight from earlier is there; it’s in Goro’s eyes, his lips, his voice. It’s entirely distracting, and from the way it’s handled, as if it’s too heavy to keep from spilling, Akira can’t ignore it, either. Meaning swells from those words.

He doesn’t want to disappoint Goro. Picking meticulously for the appropriate vocabulary, Akira eventually answers, “Fine, fine. Pretty much the same as they were before.”

“Really?” Goro presses on.

Akira nods, and the silly, half-repressed smile that tugs at Goro’s lips causes Akira to swiftly look down and fiddle with his jacket. Wow. Okay.

There is definitely, _definitely_ no way to avoid thoughts of that smile now.

In fact, he finds himself wanting to draw it out even longer; he keeps on with his statement, “Mom remembers all the little details about you. She’s always bringing them up when we talk, and it’s really considerate of her, you know? I think she sees you as her second son or something. Which would be weird, because then we’d be _brothers_ , and that’s…”

Goro barks out an actual, honest _laugh_ , and Akira’s responding chuckle starts to lose all of its nervous pinpricks. “How sweet of her!” Goro says.

“Right? And, uh…” Akira cuts himself before he can say it, but Goro is clearly waiting for him to continue. Ah. Shit. He’d almost asked about the trip, and that would be… a very, _very_ bad idea in retrospect. He still needs some time to lick his wounds, and Goro’s presence only deepens them, cuts into the very core of his being.

But is it too much to say that this pain is almost pleasant enough to endure?

Goro’s expectant look becomes too much to bear, and the question tumbles from Akira’s mouth before he can stop it: “Actually,” he says, very slowly, “she was wondering if you wanted to go back to Yamakita with me this October.”

Goro blinks several times. Lips parting slightly, he loses his grip on his straw and it rolls around the rim of his mug before sinking further into the coffee. Akira stares blankly at it, refusing to meet Goro’s gaze.

“… Me?” Goro mutters at last.

Akira massages his neck. “Uh, yeah, I wasn’t talking to your coffee,” he jokes.

Goro appears to be nonfunctional, unmoving and wordless in his spot. Truthfully, Akira wasn’t expecting him to jump at the idea, but seeing the actual thing is disheartening. He nearly considers retracting the offer. However, he holds his ground; he’s done with sitting back and doing nothing, letting the world float idly by him.

For some reason, Goro ignites a flame within him—each day that flame is fanned and fed. He doesn’t want to lose that feeling, whatever it is. He can’t, not after years and years of ashes.

After what seems like forever, Goro drops his gaze and says, “When would the trip be? I’d have to check my schedule for an opening.”

“Oh,” Akira says. “Um. Two weeks from now, Friday to Sunday.”

“I see…” Akira can’t process the fact that Goro is actually considering it. When Goro starts to scroll through his phone, his expression pinched in concentration, Akira stares at him with bated breath, twining his fingers under the table.

“I believe I have some space, as my next major operation won’t be until the week after… I can wrap up preparations before then. Does that sound okay to you?”

Akira’s heart leaps against his chest, and he answers, “Of course! I can send the details to you later. Um—” Somehow, his skin tingles with curiosity at Goro’s unusually-worded statement, but he doesn’t push it. Instead, he says, “Thank you for agreeing.”

“Don’t mention it, Akira.” Goro waves him off. “I’ve always wanted to go back, but I never found the time to. I’m hoping this time I’ll be able to quench my curiosity regarding the topic.” He smiles, and Akira smiles, too, nerves buzzing with excitement and anxiety in equal parts. He untangles his fingers to reach for his phone, texting his mother quickly.

“You’re gonna love it there. Things are the same, but some of it has changed…”

“You’ll show me around, won’t you? I may be a little out of my element…”

“Of course I will, Goro.”

“Then please take good care of me,” Goro says, a ghost of a smile on his face.

Akira presses his lips together for fear that his grin will turn lopsided and silly. When he pockets his phone, feeling brighter than he had in weeks, he glimpses the same sort of spirit in Goro’s expression. Something unfettered and real. Goro notices him staring, and the sheepish laugh that escapes as a result makes a familiar ache sing in Akira’s chest.

… What an idiot he was, to think he could get over this so easily. No. There’s no way, absolutely none, that Akira could think to forget what that smile did to him— _still_ does to him, even now—nor how much he yearns for its warmth to fill his every day.

Pathetic. But, still, the truth. Perhaps it’s an ugly truth. Either way, Akira knows that he’s just going to try twice as hard now to win Goro’s affections, even if he has to get hurt again.

Isn’t that what people do for love? Get hurt?

 

* * *

 

Junji checks his watch. A sigh leaves his lips. “That guy’s taking forever,” he says, irritated.

Ai and Katsue dig into their crepe, Ai shoveling it carelessly into her mouth. “I thought he was with Akechi-kun,” Katsue offers, tilting her head to the side. Junji’s eyes widen.

“Really?”

“Mhm.” Katsue shoots a warning look at Ai before tugging the plate towards herself. “That’s what he’s been doing all day. You know how those two always grab lunch together, right? They’re probably still caught up in something, whatever that may be…”

“I swear we’re seeing Akira less and less,” Junji mumbles. His resignation is clear on his face as he helps himself to his crepe as well. “I mean, not that any one of us would give up the chance to bond with Akechi, but… Akira could at least _pretend_ to care about spending time with us, you know?”

Horrified, Ai reaches across the table to smack Junji on the wrist. “Don’t talk like that! He _does_ care about us, Junji. He’s just so infatuated with Akechi-kun that he can’t bear to focus on anything else. College included.” She rolls her eyes at that.

“I want to support Akira, too. He’s fighting for a position that nearly every teenager in Tokyo wants,” Katsue adds in. Junji, snorting, stabs his fork into Akira’s untouched crepe.

“Fine. You’re right, I don’t blame him. Still, though—isn’t he kind of—”  

“Kind of what?”

“You know.” Junji gestures to the air, struggling to put it into words. “Like—”

“Sorry I’m late, everyone!”

Just in time to see Junji retract his fork from Akira’s crepe, the man in question runs up to the group, breathless and a little sweaty. At once, the tension seems to melt from Junji’s shoulders. He sends Akira a teasing smile, saying, “If you were gone a minute longer I would have fed your crepe to the pigeons.”

Akira pouts, tossing his jacket onto one of the empty chairs. “Rude. I’m here now.”

Katsue pushes Akira’s plate towards him as he sits down, chewing what’s still left in her mouth before swallowing it. “I bought you your favorite kind! With extra bananas, of course.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet, Katsue. Junji destroyed my cute little ice cream bear with his fork, though.” Akira glares pointedly at him, a frown on his face, then pokes at the ruined treat before popping one of the chocolate eyes into his mouth. “Anyways, did I miss anything? Don’t tell me you were talking shit about me behind my back.”

“Nooo…” Ai sips her shake suspiciously loudly. Katsue giggles.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad, okay? Now tell us about your day.”  

“So you _admit_ you were talking about me,” Akira counters, prompting the girls to vehemently deny it. Junji sits back in his seat and watches, taking intermittent bites of his crepe.

If Akira were anyone else, Junji wouldn’t be able to tell the difference in Akira’s demeanor. He could hear and see everything and not be able to distinguish the nuances, the shifts. But he can tell that Akira is not the same. There’s no real flavor behind his energy, no actual snark in his words. And yet, when he starts to rattle off about what he ate with Akechi, the things they talked about, some light returns to those eyes. Something alive. It makes Junji smile, but worry still sits at the pit of his stomach, foreboding and so, so wrong.

But he doesn’t say anything, for his friend’s happiness is all he could care about. He just leans forward and listens intently to Akira’s ramblings, brushing off that feeling of concern. He won’t agonize over it for now. Perhaps he’s just overthinking it. Yes, that's it. Overthinking it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [please read!!!] hey gang, i'm back from my hiatus and i've been doing a lot of reflecting recently. unfortunately, it hasn't yielded any positive results; i've started to hate this fic and reading it upsets me greatly. not that i hate the story itself, no—rather the execution of it is what i have problems with. it's been bothering me immensely and it stresses me out trying to bounce back from my disillusionment. so please forgive the short and messy chapter! i'm doing my best to win back my enthusiasm for writing this, and i'm hoping this chapter will kick-start an improved narrative and more consistent update schedule. thank you all for being so patient with me!
> 
> on a side note, there is a lot of the story i am going to edit once i have time; the town mentioned is also something of a placeholder. if i find a place that is more befitting to the hometown akira describes, i will use that instead!

**Author's Note:**

> updates are every other week!
> 
> please leave comments and/or kudos to let me know how im doing! if u wanna chat (because i need to socialize more often) my twitter is @nonnecheri :3c


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